


anyway you want it (that's the way you need it)

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras is a teacher and Grantaire is a student, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire was never really interested in politcs, Courfeyrac's new politics teacher, however, is an entirely different story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire's door flew open with a bang. “I’m going to be late, and it’s your fault.”

He grumbled angrily and threw one of his pillows in the vague direction of where Courfeyrac was standing and yelling at him. Courfeyrac kept stomping though the hallway of their little flat, cursing and packing up things he’d need for his uni classes. Grantaire's head hurt like hell and his throat was on fire and the noise his friend was making wasn't helping at all. Great, it was bound to be a good first day of classes.

With a sigh, Grantaire pried his eyes open and sat up to see a half-naked Courf passing by the door of his room. “All my shirts are dirty, which is probably your fault too.”

“Oh for god’s sake, just take one of mine and let me sleep.” He didn’t have class until the afternoon and he’d planned on sleeping for as long as he possibly could, which was hardly possible with Courfeyrac running through the flat like a fury.

Courfeyrac came walking back into his room, still shirtless, with a piece of toast in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He set the cup down on a pile of brochures and art magazines on Grantaire’s bedside table, quickly finished his toast and then started digging through his drawers, searching for a shirt without paint stains or a weird band logo, still muttering angrily. “ _Uni starts tomorrow, Courf, we should get really pissed, the occasion demands it_. Why do I even listen to you?” He started throwing shirts on Grantaire’s bed, and it didn’t look like he was going to put them back. “Ah,” he said, finally, and pulled out a plain black shirt he’d found on the bottom of one of the drawers.

“It wasn’t me who came home with two bottles of vodka,” Grantaire casually reminded him, and took the cup of coffee that had been placed so conveniently close to him.

“But it was you who insisted on drinking them and put that mug down, that’s not for you!” Courfeyrac dove onto his bed, spilling half of the coffee, luckily, not over Grantaire, but his bedsheets. “Ohhh, I’m sorry.” Clearly, he wasn’t.

Courf sat next to him on the bed while sipping what was left of his coffee, Grantaire throwing him dark looks, quite certain that he just stayed to keep him from going back to sleep. He knew he deserved it, because he’d been pouring him drinks all night, knowing he’d have to be up early.

“I thought you were going to be late?,” Grantaire inquired, when Courf still hadn’t moved after a while.

At that, Courfeyrac took a deep breath and heaved himself off the bed. “I just have zero motivation, and I still have about 10 minutes to get to class.”

“You better run,” Grantaire said, sinking down into his pillows again, carefully avoiding the huge wet spot where Courf had spilled his coffee and ignoring the shirts that were still scattered over his bed.

Courfeyrac nodded. “You better buy me lunch today or I might hate you forever.” And with that he was off, allowing Grantaire to sleep for a couple more hours. Courf would probably make it to class in time, though, their flat was right around the corner from campus. It was a convenient location for the two of them, because they were notoriously late, and had both sprinted to campus on several occasions, either because they just hadn’t made it out of bed on time, or because they’d spent the night drinking.

They’d known each other since kindergarten, had gone to the same schools, and a year ago they had ended up at the same uni, and obviously it had been a must for them to share a flat, so they could annoy each other indefinitely. Not that they were actually annoying each other that much, their friendship had just reached an old-married-couple state, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it simply meant a lot of bickering, mostly about whose turn it was to go grocery shopping.

As for sleeping, well, it didn’t work out as perfectly as Grantaire had hoped, because not too long after he’d drifted off to sleep again, he somehow ended up with his face in the, now cold, but still wet, coffee stain.

With a frustrated grunt he crawled out of bed, started stripping off the sheets and then got himself some water. Their kitchen was a mess, as usual. They didn’t have a dishwasher and neither of them felt compelled to do the dishes until the sink was overflowing with dirty plates and cups. They also both didn’t get why they should put their food into cupboards, unless it had to be refrigerated, since it was all going to be eaten at some point anyway.

Once, during their first semester, Courfeyrac’s mum had come to pay them a visit, and she’d been shocked, to put it mildly. None of their parents had ever attempted to come over ever again, for which they were extremely grateful. Grantaire wouldn’t have the nerves to put up with his parents at any rate, since they were still not quite happy with him pursuing an art degree instead of something _respectable_.

Grantaire shovelled a bowl of cereal into his mouth, happy that they still had milk that wasn’t out of date, and then texted Courfeyrac to ask him where his class was, so he could pick him up for lunch later.

Campus was teeming with confused first years, helplessly wandering around, most of them too scared to ask for help. Grantaire made his way through them, listening to their converstation as he passed by, striding toward the main building, where Courf’s lecture was taking place.

He was running up a flight of stairs, when one of said first years bumped into him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I’m just a little lost.” The kid seemed genuinely sorry. Definitely new here, definitely either studying art or something similar by the looks of him. His clothes were daringly colourful and he had a flower tucked into his braided hair.

“Don’t worry about it, do you need help finding something?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for B204, I went to the second floor but I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

Grantaire choked down a laugh. “That’s because you’re in the wrong building, just go outside, turn left, the next building is the one you’re looking for. Happens to the best of us.”

The kid thanked him, and left with his face flushed from embarrassment. Grantaire walked the rest of the way to Courfeyrac’s classroom and waited for the lesson to end. Soon, the door opened and students started streaming out, chattering excitedly about the latest financial crisis, or whatever it was that politics students liked to chatter about. He'd often listened to Courfeyrac talking about supposedly interesting political events and whatnot, or better, he'd tried to listen, but had failed miserably. It was that kind of studd that Grantaire oftentimes liked to refer to as ‘political crap’.

He peeked into the lecture room, trying to spot Courfeyrac in the crowd of students, until his eyes fell on who was presumably the teacher of this class. Which he couldn’t be, really, because he certainly looked way too young to be teaching at university. He was talking to some students, probably explaining something, eagerly waving his hands, smiling encouragingly when they nodded at what he was saying. Grantaire was quite sure that that guy could tell him absolutely anything and he’d approve in a heartbeat. He looked like he’d jumped right out of one of Grantaire’s Ancient Greek Art books.

Sadly, Courfeyrac wandered into his view only a few seconds later and dragged him off to get lunch.

“Was that guy in there your teacher? He looked really young.” And also really handsome and godlike, but he thought he’d better not mention that.

Courf shrugged. “You mean Enjolras? Yeah, he’s new, I guess he’s only a couple of years older than most of us, but he has some strong views, let me tell you that.” He went on and on about how this was going to be the hardest class this term, because of Enjolras' expectations of his students, but Grantaire was just nodding absent-mindedly, already drawing pictures of Enjolras in his mind, his fingers itching for a paint brush.

Maybe he’d have to sneak into Courfeyrac’s politics class next week.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire didn’t even have to wait the whole week to get a closer look at Courfeyrac’s new politics teacher.

He went to the library, whispering a quick hello to Cosette, the librarian’s daughter, who helped out every now and then. At the beginning of term it was – well, in comparison to finals week you could probably call it deserted. He saw Marius sitting in a corner, with a good view of Cosette’s table at the entrance, pretending to read a magazine, and quickly waved at him and made his way to the art section.

Marius had been in a couple of Courf’s politics classes during their first year, and after a while they’d begun to wonder why he spent so much time at the library, until they’d finally got it out of him that he fancied Cosette. It was actually verging on being obsessed, but as far as Grantaire knew, he’d still not managed to properly speak to her, except for the occasional hello and goodbye. Apparently Marius was a tad bit scared of her father, and since Cosette was only eighteen and in her last year of school, he probably had all right to be, as Jean Valjean was extremely protective of his daughter.

Grantaire stalked through rows of shelves, and came across a group of first years who did a tour of the library with one of the tutors. They all seemed really excited and he found himself wishing that he was still that enthusiastic about university.

He finally got to the aisle he was looking for, noticed that the sign he’d made months ago, when he’d been particularly angry with some library snobs, was still stuck to the wall ( _Please refrain from breathing in the library, it might offend people,_ it read), then brushed his fingers over books, trying to find something to his interest, pulling out books here and there, when suddenly he spotted a mop of blond hair behind a wall of books on a table not too far from where he was standing.

He strode closer, feeling he should try to look inconspicuous, but quite possibly looking like he had just murdered ten people.

His eyes fixed on Enjolras, he didn’t notice the small stepladder leaning against one of the shelves, promptly tripped over it and let the books he was holding fall to the floor with a loud clatter. He winced and saw Enjolras throwing him an annoyed look. “Sorry,” he mouthed in his direction and awkwardly started picking up the books, with Enjolras’ gaze still on him, Grantaire wishing the earth would just swallow him up right where he was standing.

Cursing under his breath and his face as red as a tomato, he rushed back to Cosette to check out his books. She seemed curious enough to ask what on earth had happened to him, but thankfully didn’t and spared him the embarrassment.

When he got home, Courfeyrac was sitting on the sofa with a textbook and a bowl of either porridge or instant noodles, he couldn’t quite tell. Neither of them were the best cooks, but they could probably make a passable meal if they ever found the motivation to try. Or maybe they’d set the kitchen of fire. It was for the best not to find out.

“I saw Marius spying on Cosette in the library again,” Grantaire said as he sat next to Courfeyrac, snatching the bowl out of his hands. Too late he started wondering why Courf didn’t protest and took a bite. “Oh my god, that’s disgusting.”

“I have rare talent and it’s fucking up instant noodles.” Courfeyrac looked extremely pleased with himself at Grantaire’s face. “So, Marius still hasn’t talked to her?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I suppose not, but remember when he smiled at her once and she smiled back, that was basically all that ever happened.” He gave him his best impression of Marius’ dreamy face, the one he got every time or someone else mentioned Cosette.

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac picked up his textbook (political bullshit at its finest, Grantaire noted) and ignored Grantaire whose thoughts were wandering back to the library where he’d made such a formidable first impression.

He barely noticed that he finished Courfeyrac’s horrible instant noodles.

* * *

“Why aren’t we doing this all the time?,” Courfeyrac asked with a grumble. He was lying on the lawn in front of the main building, where students liked to spend their breaks, his bag tucked under his head as a pillow, sunglasses on his nose, enjoying the autumn sun. Grantaire was sat next to him, doodling in his notebook.

There were both supposed to be in class, but this might be the last nice day of the year and it would have been a crime not to enjoy it. Groups of students were scattered around them, and most of them had probably had the same idea.

“Probably because we’d fail all our exams and end up on the street without a degree, left to sleep under a bridge and in the end we’d probably starve to death or die some other kind of painful death.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot.”

Grantaire grinned and started sketching the main building, when he suddenly saw a familiar face not too far away from them. It was the guy he’d shown the way a couple of days ago, he was sitting on his own with his nose in a book. Grantaire mumbled “I’ll be right back” to Courfeyrac and walked over to him.

“Hey there,” Grantaire said cheerfully, startling the poor guy so much that he dropped his book in his lap.

“Oh, hi, it’s you.” His face lit up a little. “Thanks again for showing me the way, I didn’t get lost again.”

“My pleasure.” Grantaire sat next to him, not bothering to ask if it was alright. “I’m Grantaire,” he said, holding out his hand.

The guy shook it eagerly. “My name’s Jehan.”

“Are you making friends without me?” Courfeyrac had walked over to them, eyes glinting as he sat down.

Grantaire quickly introduced them and explained how they came to know each other. Courfeyrac smiled wickedly. “Aw, you’re a first year, where do you live?”

“I live in the dorms over there,” Jehan said, pointing to some buildings in the distance on the other side of campus.

“Oh man, we went to a party there during our first week here, remember, R?” Courfeyrac hit him in the ribs with his elbows. “No you probably don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember either, and you still don’t know what happened to your shoes.”

“Yeah, and I really liked those shoes,” Courf whined.

Jehan smiled at their anecdote, probably thinking they were a bit mad, but if he did, he didn’t seem to care much.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac added, “if you ever get bored you should come over to our place, we have a playstation and a lot of unhealthy food and beer.”

Grantaire nodded his approval. “And if you want cheap drinks, I work at the Musain a couple of times a week, so you should come over sometime.”

“Thanks guys, that’s really nice of you. Um, I have to go to a lecture now, but I guess I’ll see you around?” He was moving to get up, but Courfeyrac put his hand on Jehan’s shoulder.

“Let me teach you something about uni. It’s called skipping classes. You’ll like it, I promise.”

So Jehan stayed with them, telling them about some of his English Literature classes (not an art student then), and the people he’d met so far, then listened to more of Grantaire’s and Courfeyrac’s stories (“Seriously, if you don’t lose your clothes or your shoes at some point, you’re doing it wrong”) and later, when they ran out of things to talk about, Jehan started reading poetry to them, while Courfeyrac was dozing, splayed out on the grass and Grantaire kept working on his sketch.

Had Grantaire looked up from his notebook, he might have seen Enjolras hurry past them, but he was too busy drawing and too distracted by Jehan’s words. When the shadows grew longer and there was a slight chill in the air, they packed up their belongings and started walking home, Jehan to his dorm, and Courfeyrac and Grantaire to their flat.

“Well, he’s cute,” Courfeyrac said lightly, after they’d walked in silence for a bit.

Grantaire snorted. “I knew it.”

“What exactly is it that you knew?”

“That you’d like him.”

“I don’t _like_ him.” Courfeyrac tried to push Grantaire off the pavement. “Maybe I wanted to snog him senseless when he started reading poetry, but just maybe.”

“Yeah, _maybe_ ,” he chuckled and started running off toward their flat, Courfeyrac chasing after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire heard the door slam shut when Courfeyrac left for his politics lecture. It was the third week of term and they still had some sense of responsibility, but they would both soon stop going to lectures regularly. It always happened, no matter how much they promised themselves to attend every lesson.

He turned over to check the time on his alarm clock.

If he got up and got dressed quickly, he could sneak into Courf’s lecture unnoticed. He could go in through the door in the back, sit in the last row, and take a closer look at Enjolras. Technically he could look at him for nearly two hours, but he was almost certain that he’d get bored after not even ten minutes. Courfeyrac had told him that Enjolras was only a temporary replacement for a sick lecturer, and had only just graduated a year ago, as the best of his class apparently. Grantaire wasn’t sure, though, if he deemed him interesting enough to waste so much precious time on him. He could spend those two hours doing something productive.

Something productive being sleeping.

In the end, his curiosity got the better of him. He walked in through one of the doors in the back, hoping Courfeyrac wouldn’t see him, and sat down on the far right, a cup of atrocious coffee-to-go in his hand. He was lucky that he’d had time to get coffee, usually the queue at the coffee cart on campus was about a mile long, and he was sure he’d need it to stay awake.

He looked at the students around him, some of them more awake than others, some chattering excitedly, others reading or checking their facebook on their laptops. Grantaire also spotted Courfeyrac, further in the front than he would have imagined, but it was undoubtedly him, busy texting on his phone.

When Enjolras marched in, dead on time, everyone immediately fell silent, which was actually somewhat disconcerting. Most students seemed incredibly eager to hear what he had to say, scribbled along and gave Enjolras their undivided attention. Not all, obviously, there were always some who slept through their lectures (and Grantaire was oftentimes one of them). He even saw a girl ordering shoes online, only a couple of rows down, eagerly debating with another girl next to her.

Grantaire came to realise that he had been right all along. He grew bored before long and took out his sketchbook and started drawing the lecture hall, Enjolras in the front, gesticulating, gladly starting arguments with his students. Grantaire still heard him go on about what the people had to do in order to free themselves, his voice had something captivating, Grantaire had to admit, not that he was impressed by anything he was saying, because everyone who had a little sense, himself included, knew that the people would never be completely free. It was an unachievable goal.

He fought the urge to say so.

When he received a text from Jehan, a while later, he had almost finished his drawing.

Jehan: _party at my dorm on saturday, courf is coming, you in?_

He couldn’t help but smirk. Of course Courf would be coming. Grantaire felt like every time he’d seen him outside of their flat during the last two weeks he’d been with Jehan. The two of them had paid him a visit at the Musain while he’d been working the week before, and they’d sat in a corner animatedly talking over their coffees.

Grantaire had teased him about it later on and Courfeyrac had protested, saying they were just getting along really well and nothing else was going on, but the way Courf smiled, involuntarily, every time Jehan’s name was mentioned told an entirely different story.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Enjolras ended the lesson and everyone around him started packing up. He quickly slipped out of the room, before anyone, that is Courfeyrac, could notice he’d been there. Once outside, he texted Jehan that yes, of course he’d be coming, too.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Courfeyrac mumbled at the sight that presented itself as they arrived at Jehan’s dorm. There were people everywhere: drunk people, people dancing, singing, people outside, people in the hallways and common rooms and also in some of the dorm rooms. “Please make sure I go home with both my shoes on this time,” he added with a wry smile.

They went inside, squeezing themselves past groups of people standing together with big cups in their hands, yelling over the loud music. It became very clear very soon that they probably wouldn’t find Jehan in a million years. Courfeyrac texted him while Grantaire scanned the crowd in the hallway for familiar faces. When he didn’t find anyone he’d even so much as seen before, he dragged Courfeyrac along into one of the common rooms to get drinks.

Grantaire spent the next hour mainly complaining about the awful music, knowing Courf didn’t give a crap. He kept checking his phone every minute, awaiting an answer from Jehan, but it never came, so a couple of beers later, they went to sit on a sofa out in the hallway, not for a second questioning how it had ended up there, and after a while they both sullenly stared at the people passing them by.

Two girls gave chatting up Courf a try, but he hardly noticed, still too occupied with his phone. When they left, pouting, Grantaire couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. “Man, you’re pathetic, come on, let’s go look for him.” He pulled Courfeyrac off his chair and through the bulk of people, carefully trying not to spill his drink.

He aimlessly dragged Courf around, until he stopped in his tracks outside one of the open dorm rooms, which caused Courfeyrac to bump into him and pour the rest of his beer over the back of his shirt. “Aw shit, sorry.”

Grantaire shushed him and pointed at the dorm. Courf peered over his shoulder to see Jehan happily chatting with a girl who set next to him on the bed. Two other guys were with them, and Gantaire faintly recognised one of them, the uncomfortable looking one, as Joly, a medical student who’d once assisted him in taking Courfeyrac home after a long night at the Musain.

The girl giggled when Jehan whispered something in her ear and Grantaire heard Courfeyrac breathe in sharply. Grantaire pushed him back a view steps. “Do you... want to say hi?”

“No... let’s... I’ll just head home.” He shrugged weakly and turned to leave, with Grantaire following at his heels.

As they left the party, Grantaire was glad that he didn’t have to be around to clean up this mess in the morning, and was wondering what pour souls would be put in charge to do so. He spent the entire way back trying to talk to Courfeyrac, who walked next to him, but not paying attention to anything he said.

When they were nearly home, he suddenly started talking, his speech slurred a little. “Man, I think... I sort of really like him?”

Grantaire merely rolled his eyes and bit down a comment. _No shit_.

* * *

It was 3 am when Grantaire finally fell into bed. They’d thrown a pizza in the oven when they’d got home. Courfeyrac, again, had gone back to being untypically quiet and Grantaire had tried to cheer him up, but had ultimately failed.

Grantaire lay in bed and heard Courfeyrac rummaging in the bathroom and started drifting off to sleep, when suddenly his bedroom door opened. Courf tried to sneak in, but cursed loudly when he fell over Grantaire’s shoes in the dark. (Yes, they’d both come home with shoes. They’d consider that an accomplishment.)

Still grumbling, he slipped under Grantaire’s bedsheets, tugging a little until he had a fair share.

“Get out of my bed, Courf.”

“Do you think they’re going out?”

 “No, please don’t do this to me, I want to sleep.” Grantaire pushed him toward the edge of the mattress with his legs. “And no, they’re not going out, they’re just friends, you’re just seeing things because you like him so much, now leave me alone.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he still didn’t seem to want to leave, however, and snatched away one of Grantaire’s pillows. “You know, I knew that one guy who was with them, his name’s Bossuet, he’s in one of my classes. I’ve seen him with that girl a couple of times.”

“Okay, good, will you stop freaking out about nothing now?,” Grantaire mumbled.

“Alright,” Courfeyrac said and hugged him tightly.

“Are you going to get the fuck out of my bed?”

“No.” Courf still had his arms slung around him and Grantaire was way too tired to rid of him.

He sighed. “Okay then, at least stop talking.”

* * *

Courf sat slumped on a kitchen chair, waiting for Grantaire to finish cooking their breakfast. “Jehan texted me back this morning, by the way, he said he’d run out of battery.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Happens,” he muttered, and set a plate with two pieces of toast and scrambled eggs in front of Courfeyrac’s nose. “You should just ask him out, you know,” he added casually and sat down next to him.

“I will,” he replied, starting to eat his food with a blissful expression. “Eventually.”


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire stood behind the counter, watching Eponine clear tables, brooding. It was a quiet evening at the Musain, their customers were mainly university students, and there was probably something big going on somewhere, because there were only few people scattered in the cafe. Grantaire wished he could just leave and go join whatever party it was that was happening. He was sure Eponine could handle the work on her own, it wasn’t like there was a lot to do, and for her, working at the Musain was a fulltime job anyway.

She came rushing back and put a stack of dirty dishes in front of him. “Put those in the dishwasher, I’ll go do some paperwork. Come get me if a miracle happens and people start showing up.”

He watched her disappear through the door to the office with a fretful look and started cleaning up. His shift was still another three hours long and he didn’t know how to get through them without despairing completely.

Wishing he’d brought something to read, he started drawing on napkins, and watched people leave until there were only two occupied tables left. There was a couple in one corner, and three very excited girls who kept bursting out in giggles in another.

When the door opened half an hour later, Grantaire was pleasantly surprised as Courfeyrac walked in and leaned against the counter.

“Hey man, are you here to save me from dying of boredom?”

“Slow night, huh?” Courf looked around. “No, actually I’m meeting someone.”

“And who is _someone_?” Grantaire had a faint hope that his friend had finally managed to ask Jehan out, but he was quite sure that that wasn’t the case. He would have heard.

“Oh, um... you know my politics teacher, Enjolras? He sort of wants to do meetings for people who are interested in, you know, _politics_.” Courfeyrac whispered the word, certain that Grantaire didn’t give a crap. “And I told him that we could meet here, so he’s coming here to look at the cafe and maybe next week we can have our first meeting. That wouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Grantaire shrugged. “As long as you buy drinks you can pretty much do whatever you want.” He feigned disinterest, but he was definitely enjoying the prospect of being able to see Enjolras without having to sneak into his lectures.

“That’s what I thought. Can I please have something with a lot of coffee and an obscene amout of sugar?”Courfeyrac  handed him the money and glanced around the cafe, then turned his attention back to Grantaire. “You haven’t heard from Jehan by any chance?”

“Will you please just call him... invite him to your politics meeting for all I care, just do something, you’re driving me insane,” he said while pouring Courfeyrac’s coffee into a mug. It had only been a couple of days since the party and Courfhad been positively annoying ever since.

He set down the mug in front of Courf, who was about to reply, but was interrupted when Enjolras strode into the cafe. Grantaire was wondering if he could even walk normally, he always looked like he was going to war. He looked around briefly, then joined them at the counter and Courf quickly introduced Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras had a firm handshake, and Grantaire could feel his knees go a bit weak as Enjolras smiled at him broadly.

“This is a very nice place, it’ll do just fine, I’m not expecting too many people to come anyway.”

Up close, Grantaire noticed, Enjolras looked even younger. He was one of those people who immediately had everyone’s attention in the room once he came on, he was radiant. The girls in the back of the cafe kept looking over at him and then whispered something to each other that resulted in more giggles. Enjolras either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

He ordered some Earl Grey – Grantaire wouldn’t have taken him for a tea person – and waited while Courfeyrac already went to claim his favourite arm chair.

“Do you study politics, Grantaire? I swear, I’ve seen you before,” Enjolras said casually.

Grantaire’s instantly blushed. _Well, shit._ If Courf ever found out that he’d gone to a politics class just to take a look at the teacher, he’d never hear the end of it. “I... no, I’m an art student.”

Enjolras frowned, clearly not convinced. Grantaire handed him his tea, suddenly remembering something. “I nearly fell flat on my face in the library a few weeks ago, I think you might have seen me there.”

“Ohh yes, that must have been it, I remember that.” He didn’t laugh, but his lips were clearly twitching. “It was nice meeting you,” he added, letting some coins fall into Grantaire’s tip jar, and then went to join Courfeyrac.

Grantaire watched him walk away appreciatively.

* * *

They had claimed three tables, although there were only six of them, but it looked like they needed them, as there were papers and pamphlets spread all over them. There was Enjolras, who was mostly the one who was talking, not that Grantaire was paying attention, he just happened to catch some of his words every now and then, and then there was Combeferre, one of the other politics teachers, only a bit older than Enjolras. Grantaire could remember Courfeyrac talking about him, he seemed to be nice enough. Courfeyrac had shown up with a guy he’d introduced to him as Feuilly, and later Bossuet had joined them with Jehan in tow. Grantaire had watched Courfeyrac’s face with amusement as Jehan had greeted him enthusiastically.

They’d been at the Musain for nearly an hour and Grantaire found himself very interesting in their meeting, although he basically disagreed with every little thing he heard over the chatter of everyone in the cafe.

Right, maybe he _did_ listen. It was hard not to.

There were more people tonight, and Grantaire was busy for most of the time, especially because Eponine wasn’t there to help him. Apparently she had to take care of her little brother. So he was on his own behind the counter, pouring drinks and making coffee.

After a while Courfeyrac scampered over to him to get more coffee and some biscuits. “You know,” he leaned over the counter with a grin, “you might want to try staring a little more inconspicuously, because you’re not fooling anyone. And by anyone I mean me.”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire raised his eyebrows at him.

“Oh, we both know you’re not interesting in what we’re talking about, but I’m guessing you’re interested in the one who’s talking, by the way you’ve had your eyes glued to his ass all evening.” Courfeyrac grinned sheepishly.

“Dude, he’s your teacher,” Grantaire mumbled, rolling his eyes. Obviously Courfeyrac was one hundred percent right, but he wouldn’t admit that too easily.

“Yeah, exactly, he’s _my_ teacher. I’m just saying you should go for it, you know, that’s all.”

Before Courf could take his coffee and go join the others again, his phone started ringing, so he went outside to take the call, leaving his coffee with Grantaire, who curiously watched Courfeyrac talk on the phone outside the door, drying mugs absent-mindedly, wondering who he was speaking to.

“Who’s he talking to?”

Grantaire nearly dropped the mug he was holding. “Jesus, Jehan, don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” he looked at him expectantly.

“Oh... I don’t know,” Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe you should go ask him.”

Jehan intensely stared at the cup of coffee Courfeyrac had left behind, carefully avoiding to look at Grantaire when he spoke again. “Is he mad at me for something? He just... seems a little distant.”

Grantaire sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation, because he clearly wasn’t the person Jehan should have been having this conversation with, but maybe the two of them needed a little push. “He saw you with some girl at that dorm party you invited us to the other day... I don’t know, man, just go talk to him.

Realisation dawned on Jehan’s face. “Ohh... but she isn’t... she’s a friend.” Jehan’s quickly looked out the window, where Courfeyrac was still on the phone.

“Just go talk to him,” Grantaire insisted. He was about to jump over the counter and push him out the door, but fortunately Jehan nodded and walked outside to stand next to Courfeyrac, waiting for him to end his call.

 The next one to almost make him smash a mug was Enjolras. “What are they doing?”

“They have important business to attend to... why is everyone sneaking up on me today?”

Enjolras threw a disapproving glance outside, probably thinking that no business could be as important as whatever they’d been discussing at their meeting. “Maybe you should stop spying on people, then it wouldn’t be so easy for people to sneak up on you.”

“I’m not spying, only showing interest.” He proceeded to ignore Enjolras in favour of following what was going on outside, and apparently Enjolras wasn’t exactly indifferent either, because he joined Grantaire in subtly looking out the window, where Courfeyrac had ended his phone call and was now listening to Jehan, hands in his pockets and looking quite embarrassed. After a bit, he nodded and opened the door a crack and looked at Enjolras and Grantaire, both pretending they hadn’t been watching. Probably not too convincingly.

“Hey Enjolras, do you mind if Jehan and I take off... something sort of came up.”

“Sure, we were pretty much done anyway.”

Grantaire snorted and refrained from making a joke about things coming up. Courfeyrac winked at him, regardless, his coffee forgotten, and then turned around to drag Jehan off into the night. Grantaire then started cleaning up, so he could close for the night right when everyone had left. Which would hopefully be soon. People usually got the hint when it was time to go, if they didn’t he liked to turn some of the lights off, which was a strategy that hadn’t failed him so far.

In the end, only Enjolras was left, gathering his notes, and then hovering next to the counter, his eyes on Grantaire.

“So, what are you planning? Big revolution?,” Grantaire asked conversationally.

Enjolras grinned. “No just a little demonstration against tuition fees.”

“What do you care, you’re a teacher.”

That earned him a speech about how that didn’t matter at all, that he was probably extremely ignorant for thinking that, and how tuition fees had been created by Satan himself, or at least something along the lines of that, Grantaire was slightly distracted by the way Enjolras’ lips were moving when he was speaking.

They were still bickering when Grantaire was done cleaning up and Enjolras ended up walking next to him all the way home, speaking passionately about all the causes worth fighting for.

Grantaire almost wanted to be convinced.


	5. Chapter 5

Grantaire was sitting in his room, trying to read a book. He could hear Courfeyrac and Jehan giggling in the living room. Courfeyrac had invited him over for dinner and had asked Grantaire to please stay the fuck out of the way. At least he’d said please.

So Grantaire had withdrawn to his room, intending to catch up on coursework and maybe to paint a little, but currently he was too distracted to do anything, because he could hear those two idiots burst out laughing every five minutes. He didn’t even know why it annoyed him so much, but he would have very much liked them to shut up. He could listen to music, obviously, but he’d still know they were there.

He grabbed a piece of paper from his bedside table to use as a bookmark. It was one of the flyers Courfeyrac had given to him. There was a huge pile sitting there, waiting to be distributed, like Courfeyrac had asked him to, but he kept forgetting. The flyers were everywhere in their flat, and at university and at the Musain. Enjolras’ little group had been quite busy spreading them all over town. They were promoting their student fee protest most enthusiastically, Grantaire thought.

He had sworn he wouldn’t go, even though Courfeyrac had been talking at him for days. It was not like they could actually change something and he kept telling him that.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the rain tapping against the window. More laughter from the living room. He wished he could laugh with them. Maybe he should just go out. Frankly, trying to get work done on a Friday evening had been a horrible idea to begin with.

On his way out he grabbed his keys. Jehan and Courfeyrac probably didn’t even notice that he was leaving, he only quickly glanced into the living room, but from what he saw they seemed to be quite busy.

He started walking toward the Musain, it was drizzling, but he didn’t mind. When he got there, however, he didn’t really feel like going in after all. Eponine seemed quite busy, so she wouldn’t have time to entertain him. He kept wandering around town aimlessly, and the drizzle wasn’t easing up. He started thinking that he probably should have brought a warmer jacket. He could just go back home, obviously, to avoid getting completely soaked and catching a cold, but he really didn’t feel like sitting in his room for the rest of the night listening to Courf and Jehan doing God knows what.

So he kept wandering through the streets until a car pulled up next to him. The window rolled down and Enjolras looked at him with wide eyes. “Grantaire, I thought it was you. Do you need a lift somewhere? Do you want me to take you home?” He sounded genuinely worried.

Grantaire shook his head. “No thanks, home’s not the best place to be right now.”

“You’re going to get sick wandering around in the rain.” Enjolras frowned. “Come on, get in the car.”

He hesitated. Only for a second, though, because Enjolras looked at him the way he always looked at him when Grantaire cheerfully interrupted their meetings at the Musain. It said _now is not the time to argue with me_.

They did argue a lot, usually after the meetings, when Grantaire was cleaning up and getting ready to close for the night. There hadn’t been a single time that Enjolras hadn’t stuck around to wait for him, and Grantaire liked fighting with him, because unlike other people, Enjolras listened. He let him rant, let him finish, even though they never agreed in the end. He didn’t know why Enjolras put up with him, probably because he wanted to convince him, and make him believe in something.

He stood in the rain, pondering.

“At least get in here,” Enjolras continued, “you can think about where you want me to take you when you’re not out there in the cold anymore.”

Reluctantly, he walked around the car and slumped in the passenger seat. Enjolras’ car was old and not as neat as Grantaire would have expected it to be. He now saw that Enjolras was wearing a suit, and he wanted to ask about it, but Enjolras looked over at him, somewhat expectantly, waiting for him to tell him where to go. He certainly didn’t want to go home. “Courfeyrac and Jehan are snogging in my living room,” he eventually mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

“I see,” Enjolras said with a grin. Grantaire hardly saw him smile. “I have to grade some papers, but you could just come to my place and... hang around.”

“No, just take me home, it’s fine.” As much as he wanted to see Enjolras’ flat and how he lived, he couldn’t just go home with him.

“It really wouldn’t be a problem, I’ll even drive you home when you think it’s _safe_ to go back.”

“Well, if you really don’t mind...” They weren’t friends, not exactly, he’d never thought that Enjolras liked him all too much, especially because Grantaire’s favourite pastime was insulting all of his ideals at every chance he could.

And now he was going home with him. It was strange, to say the least, and he couldn’t stop staring at him either. He looked ridiculously handsome in that suit.

Enjolras glanced at him questioningly.

“I was just wondering... why the suit?” Grantaire was blushing, he could feel it. Just marvellous. He was going to make a complete fool of himself.

“Oh, just a meeting, nothing you’d be interested in,” Enjolras said.

None of them said another word until they reached Enjolras’ flat. It was on the other side of campus, so he could easily walk to work if he felt like it. He probably did, because it was environmentally friendly, unlike taking the car.

Enjolras unlocked the door and vaguely gestured at his living room. “Just make yourself at home. I just quickly have to get rid of that suit.”

“Right, thanks,” Grantaire said, looking around curiously. “You don’t happen to have anything to eat by any chance?” He was starving, Courfeyrac had only let him help prepare dinner for Jehan, he hadn’t actually let him try it once it was done.

“Yeah sure, check the kitchen,” Enjolras said as he walked down the hallway, where is bedroom presumably was.

Grantaire started rummaging through his extremely well organised kitchen, looking for something like a frozen pizza, or something similar, disappointed when he didn’t find anything.

He was still going through cupboards when Enjolras joined him in the kitchen. “Finding anything?” He was now wearing pyjama bottoms and a white shirt, which messed with Grantaire’s picture of him quite a bit. Before he probably couldn’t have imagined Enjolras looking even somewhat relaxed, not if he had tried for a hundred years.

“Do you have anything that doesn’t take a ridiculous amount of time to prepare?”

Enjolras came to stand next to him and stared into the fridge. “Um... eggs?” He pulled out the carton and held it in front of Grantaire’s nose.

“Right,” he took the carton. “Do you want some?”

“Yeah, sure, thank you. I’ll start on those papers, please don’t set my kitchen on fire.” He patted Grantaire’s arm before he left.

* * *

Enjolras had already finished his eggs and was now busy correcting papers, while Grantaire was on the other side of his sofa staring at the TV. He wasn’t actually paying attention, his eyes kept wandering about the room, trying to recognise Enjolras on pictures that were stuck to the wall with tape, trying to see which books he had and what kind of music he liked.

They never had time to talk about those things, he wasn’t sure if that was something Enjolras wanted to share. But if he didn’t want him to know at all, he wouldn’t have brought him here. Grantaire looked over at him, he was leaning against the cushions, brow furrowed, absent-mindedly chewing on his pen. He wished he could paint him caught right in this moment.

Grantaire picked up a notepad and a pencil and started drawing. It was simple, only the outlines. It hardly did Enjolras justice. He never asked Grantaire what he was doing, he was too engrossed in his work, so when Grantaire was done he slid the piece of paper on the table, intending to just leave it there and see when Enjolras would find it.

“Why did you take me home with you?” He couldn’t help it, it was out before he could stop himself.

Enjolras looked up, a bit confused. “You said you didn’t want to go home.”

“Yeah, but... you hardly know me.”

“I know that you like pretending that you don’t care about politics,” he said, now grinning. “Remember when we met at the Musain and I said I’d seen you before? I knew you’d been in one of my lectures, I’m not blind, you know.”

“Well, I just wanted to take a look,” Grantaire mumbled defensively. He couldn’t look Enjolras in the eyes, so he chose to stare at the ceiling.

“And obviously it was interesting enough for you to stay until the end.”

“Hm, maybe.”

Enjolras didn’t reply, only nudged him with his foot, which finally made Grantaire look back at him. He smiled and then turned his attention back to his papers. They sat there until the middle of the night, tips of their toes still touching. Neither of them said a word until Grantaire got up to leave.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a knock on his door and Courfeyrac poked his head inside a second later. “Hey, we’re going to leave now, are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

Grantaire sat on his bed, wrapped in three blankets, a cup of tea in his hand. He had the worst cold of his entire life and all he wanted to do was to sleep for about five days. He nodded, regretting it immediately, because it made his head hurt even worse. “I’m okay.”

Jehan then came into his room with another cup of tea and another blanket that he’d probably stolen from Courfeyrac and draped it around his shoulders.

“Thanks Jehan,” Grantaire mumbled and then sneezed.

Jehan smiled, handed him a tissue and gave him a hug. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire waved at them as they left, put his mug down and tried to watch a film on his laptop, but soon gave up because it made his headache even worse. He wrapped himself up in his blankets a little more and closed his eyes.

He must have actually fallen asleep, because he felt rather disoriented when his phone rang. He’d never noticed that his ringtone was so unbearably loud.

“Yeah?”

“Hey man, I just wanted to check if you’re alright?” People were cheering loudly in the background, so Courfeyrac was either still at the demonstration or they’d organised some kind of after party.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.” Except that his head was still feeling like it was about to explode and he could hardly breathe.

“Are you sure, because I might stay at Jehan’s tonight, but I can come home and make you dinner or a cup of tea.”

Grantaire didn’t think he’d be eating anything in the next couple of days, and he was pretty sure that he could manage to make tea, so he declined and told him to have fun. He absolutely didn’t need a babysitter.

He turned his phone off then, so no one would wake him up again. What he hadn’t taken into account was the doorbell that rang only a few hours later. Grantaire groaned and rolled around on the bed for a couple of seconds, and then walked to the door, one of the blankets still hanging around his shoulders.

It was Enjolras at the door. “Hey?” He probably looked like he was running around at home pretending to be a superhero. And since Enjolras didn’t know he was sick, he probably also looked like he was on drugs.

“Hi, um, Courfeyrac asked if someone could check on you on their way home.” Okay, he did know then.

“You live on the other side of campus,” Grantaire said quietly. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy.

“I know, but he sounded worried and I really don’t mind. Do you need anything?”

Grantaire took a deep breath. Yeah, definitely dizzy. “I need to sit down.” He stumbled toward the sofa, sneezed again, and wasn’t at all surprised when Enjolras followed him into the flat.

He pushed the door shut and sat down next to him on the sofa. “You look horrible.”

“Thanks, you’re charming as ever,” Grantaire said, tugging at his blanket.

Enjolras smiled. He looked fantastic. Even after protesting and yelling all day, and even though his hair was dishevelled, he still looked absolutely fantastic, it just wasn’t fair. “Sorry. So... can I get you anything?”

“You really don’t have to, just send Courf a text and tell him that I’m fine.” He just wanted to go back to bed, he was missing his other three blankets. He also didn’t want Enjolras to see him like this for longer than necessary.

“Um, Joly told me to ask if you’ve eaten anything today.”

“No, and I don’t want to.”

“I could make you soup,” Enjolras suggested.

Grantaire frowned. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

Enjolras laughed and got up. “No, unless you throw me out, but I don’t think you’re capable of that right now, so I’m going to make you soup.”

“Fine,” Grantaire grumbled and curled up on the sofa.

Enjolras came back not too much later with a bowl of soup that he handed to Grantaire. “Your kitchen is a nightmare,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “It sort of reminds me of my time at uni, though.”

“You mean there was a time when you were young and reckless?,” Grantaire said, raising his eyebrows.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m not actually that much older than you, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He was sincerely hoping that he wasn’t blushing. “But you could at least pretend that I’m funny, because I’m sick.”

Enjolras shook his head, sighing. “How’s the soup?”

“It’s not like I can actually taste it or anything, but it’s warm, so I suppose it serves its purpose.” Grantaire ate a few more spoons and then put the bowl on the small table next to the sofa. He still felt cold, despite the warm soup, and shivered.

“Do you need another blanket?”

“No, I’m okay.” He was starting to feel like this was all he was saying lately. Anyway, there was no way he’d let Enjolras enter his room, not under any circumstances. He pulled the blanket up to his nose, but then his feet poked out. “You know what, I’ll go back to bed and you can go home.” He sounded like an ass. “Sorry, I mean, I’m really thankful that you came over and that you made me something to eat. I just feel like shit and I don’t want you to have to look at me while I’m feeling like shit.”

Enjolras smirked. “As I said, I don’t mind.”

“Okay then, how about you pick something to watch on TV while I get my blankets.” He got up before Enjolras could protest. Grantaire was feeling slightly less faint now that he’d had something to eat, he quickly walked into his room, tried to hide everything that Enjolras maybe shouldn’t see, including a little doodle that looked suspiciously like him and grabbed his blankets.

Enjolras was still zapping through the channels when Grantaire came back and sat down at the other end of the sofa. “I don’t want you to get sick, too,” he mumbled.

“Maybe running around out in the rain wasn’t such a good idea,” Enjolras mused. He chose a random film from the 70s for them to watch and Grantaire wasn’t sure if there really was no plot or if he just didn’t get it because his head was still killing him. His eyes were starting to hurt again after a while as well, so he closed his eyes, dimly aware that Enjolras was still on the sofa with him.

“Hey Grantaire, come lie down.” Enjolras tugged at his shirtsleeve and pulled him down on the sofa. Grantaire slumped down, half-asleep, and let out a soft sigh when Enjolras’ fingers started running through his hair.

When he woke up again he was back in his bed, all of his blankets tucked around him. It was dark, there was no sign of Enjolras, so he got up to check if he was still sitting in the living room, but he found the whole flat was empty. He was pretty sure that their kitchen was a lot cleaner than it had been before.

* * *

Grantaire was stumbling toward the door, with Bahorel right behind him, also not too sure on his feet. Everyone else had already left, Jehan had dragged Courfeyrac home hours ago, and Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what had happened afterwards, but he’d somehow been left at the bar with Bahorel.

There had been tequila. He still wasn’t sure how much.

They were walking across campus, holding on to each other, when Bahorel suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire was actually really proud of himself because he was still able to talk.

“You don’t live here,” Bahorel said, frowning at him.

“Oh.” He was absolutely right.

Bahorel grinned. “You can crash on my floor if you want.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I actually know a guy... he lives... over there,” he said, waving his hands around. He didn’t want to bother Bahorel, he’d just walk back home, it wasn’t too far.

“Okay, see you around,” Bahorel said and patted him on the back and staggered off.

Grantaire walked back toward the main street, when he remembered that he _did_ know a guy who lived around here. He hadn’t seen Enjolras in a while, especially because he was now doing different shifts at the Musain and wasn’t there anymore when they held their meetings. He’d almost paid him a visit at his office at university a couple of days ago, but had chickened out, maybe he should go see him now.

He’d already turned around, convinced this was the best idea he’d ever had. He’d never got to thank Enjolras for coming over when he was sick, he probably should have done that about a week ago.

Enjolras didn’t open the door until he’d knocked for the fourth time. “Grantaire?,” he croaked. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only pyjama trousers with little fish on them.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He gripped the frame of the door, so he’d stop swaying, but everything around him was still moving.

Enjolras frowned. “Are you drunk?”

“Only a tiny bit,” Grantaire said, trying to remember how many beers he’d had before they’d started drinking tequila.

 Enjolras took him by the arm and dragged him into his flat. “Not so loud, you’re going to wake everyone up.”

“It’s not that... late.”

“It’s two in the morning, some people would actually call that late,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grantaire said and took a step toward Enjolras, who then gripped his arm and led him to the sofa.

“How about you just sleep here,” Enjolras muttered, watched as he lay down and then spread a blanket over him.

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispered and suddenly sat up. “Right, I came here to say thank you.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said, rubbing his eyes, “for what exactly?”

“For the soup.” Grantaire lay back down and closed his eyes. The world was still spinning.

“Oh, you’re welcome.” Enjolras squeezed his arm. “Please don’t throw up on my sofa.”

“Hm, I won’t. Sorry ‘bout waking you up.”

“It’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long, I just have too many fics to update.


	7. Chapter 7

Grantaire was leaning against the windowsill, paintbrush in hand, frowning at the painting in front of him. The colours didn’t look right. Nothing about it looked right. He tapped the end of the brush against his nose, pondering. He ended up picking up a bigger one and went over the whole canvas with a deep bright red that covered up the abomination he’d produced before.

He stared at it gloomily, wondering what to do with it now, until his phone rang and he threw himself across his bed, brush still in hand, leaving splotches of red all over his sheets.

“Yeah?”

“Grantaire!,” Courfeyrac yelled, “you have to come here.” Grantaire could hear music in the background, people laughing and he was pretty sure he heard Jehan screech.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Grantaire said and put his brush on an empty plate that was still sitting on his bedside table. His fingers were stained with paint, so were his clothes, and most likely also his face. They’d probably gone to some club after their meeting and had already started drinking, at least by how enthusiastic Courfeyrac already sounded.

“Come on, even Enjolras and Combeferre are here,” Courfeyrac said.

“Enjolras is there?” Now, that was interesting. The sight of Enjolras at a nightclub might actually be worth leaving the house.

“Yes, he is. We’re at the Corinthe, see you in a bit.” And with that he hung up, apparently quite sure that Grantaire wouldn’t say no now.

Courfeyrac was right. It was embarrassing how right he was. Grantaire quickly jumped in the shower, tried to get the paint off and was successful – mostly at least. The Corinthe was just around the corner from the Musain, a true nightmare all week round, but especially on Wednesdays. He didn’t know why it always was on Wednesdays that people went there, he just knew that it took about an hour to get drinks, which was definitely too long. He preferred other places where you didn’t have to shout over the music and the drinks weren’t hilariously overpriced.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait to get inside, it was late when he got there and some people were already leaving, moving on to different parties, stumbling out the door as he walked inside, eyes peeled for Courfeyrac, or anyone he knew, really.

The club was teeming with students, Grantaire recognised some from his classes, and eventually he spotted Courfeyrac and Jehan on the dancefloor, hands all over each other, and a bit later he saw Bahorel at the bar, pushing two full shot glasses toward Joly, who was shaking his head furiously. He was just about to join them, when he found Enjolras sitting at an empty table, a bottle of beer in front of him, staring into space as far as Grantaire could see. There was no sign of Combeferre or any of the other members of their group.

“I was wondering where you were,” Enjolras said when Grantaire sat down next to him. He leaned in close so he didn’t have to shout over the music. “What’s in your hair?” Enjolras caught a strand of his hair between his fingers.

“What?”

“There’s something red in your hair,” Enjolras clarified.

“Ah,” Grantaire said, shrugging, “I was painting, I guess I missed that bit.”

Enjolras snorted and lightly tugged at the strand of hair, and Grantaire had to try very hard not to imagine other situations that could involve Enjolras tugging at his hair, which wasn’t too easy because Enjolras wouldn’t let go. He took a deep breath and reached for Enjolras’ untouched beer, not even asking for permission, he needed a drink and he needed one now. Enjolras only threw him a slightly amused glance and finally let go of his hair.

“So, I gather your meeting went well?,” Grantaire asked.

“Yes, and so did our protest the other week. They wanted to celebrate.” Enjolras vaguely gestured at the dancefloor. He didn’t look too happy.

Grantaire almost felt bad for him. “And they dragged you along.”

“They insisted.” He looked entirely too uncomfortable, a club definitely wasn’t his preferred place to be. “Combeferre already left, they didn’t even notice.”

Grantaire glanced at the dancefloor and Courfeyrac waved at him cheerfully and beckoned him to join them. He nudged Enjolras and nodded over to where Jehan and Courfeyrac seemed to be having the time of their lives. “Come on, let’s go dancing.”

“I don’t dance,” Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire knew better than to start arguing with him now, so he took off on his own, leaving Enjolras with the now half-empty bottle of beer, and ended up wedged between Courfeyrac and Jehan. He danced until he felt like he was going to pass out and then made his way to the nearest bar, where he ran into Bahorel, who was now trying to talk some guy he’d never seen into drinking a few shots with him. Apparently Joly had left him there by himself, and the guy seemed rather happy when he was replaced by Grantaire.

By the time he got back to Enjolras he wasn’t even sure how many drinks he’d had anymore, he still felt capable of walking straight, though, but sat down a little closer to Enjolras than necessary. It wasn’t like he’d planned on doing it, it just happened, things like that always happened when he’d had a bit too much to drink, it seemed.

“You’re still here,” Grantaire said, his words slightly slurred.

“I’m not planning on staying much longer.” Enjolras didn’t lean away from him, Grantaire noticed, but he seemed a bit exasperated.

“Ah, but we have to go dancing.” Grantaire slung his arm around Enjolras’ shoulder. “Have a little fun before you leave.” He jumped up and held out his hand for Enjolras, who glared at him, shaking his head.

“No, really, I don’t exactly feel like making a fool of myself today.”

“Oh Enjolras,” Grantaire said, leaning down and grinning. “I bet you look good on the dancefloor,” he sang, probably completely out of key, but it coaxed a smile from Enjolras anyway.

“Will you let me go home if I go dancing for a minute?”

“I’ll escort you personally if you want.” Yeah, the last three shots were definitely kicking in now.

“I think if there’s anyone who needs an escort,” Enjolras said, getting up, frowing down at him, “it’s you.”

Courfeyrac and Jehan cheered when they walked up to them, and Grantaire tried to remember if they’d even stopped dancing at some point, they definitely didn’t look like they had. Jehan immediately spun Enjolras around, Grantaire watched, eyes fixed on Enjolras, who was stumbling awkwardly, and at anyone else he would have laughed, but Enjolras still looked so absolutely fantastic that all he could do was stare, transfixed.

Enjolras had been serious about the whole going home after a minute thing, though, and said goodbye quickly, all too soon. Grantaire tried to persuade him to stay for a bit longer, but Enjolras just smiled at him and turned to leave.

And Grantaire wasn’t quite sure why he’d thought it was a good idea to follow Enjolras, because it clearly hadn’t been, but before he knew it he was outside, chasing after him. He was already a little way down the road, but turned when he heard Grantaire running up behind him.

“Everything okay?,” he asked, not exactly worried, but surely confused. Grantaire couldn’t really tell anymore, his head was spinning too much.

“Yes,” Grantaire breathed. He couldn’t manage more than that, otherwise he’d have time to come to his senses, so he only stood on his tiptoes and kissed Enjolras on his lips, parting under his, and Grantaire was surprised when Enjolras’ hands settled at his hips, not pulling him closer, but holding him in place, squeezing slightly when their tongues brushed together.

Enjolras pulled away eventually, much too soon for Grantaire’s taste. “I... should head home... classes tomorrow and all that,” he said, scratching his head. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a little dishevelled, it was an absolutely stunning image.

“Yeah, sure, sorry... I shouldn’t have done that.” Grantaire took a step backwards, feeling very sober all of a sudden. “I’m really sorry,” he said again and turned around.

He’d never run home that fast in his life, and maybe Enjolras had called his name, but when he fell into his bed he’d already convinced himself that he’d imagined it.

* * *

Jehan was in the kitchen making breakfast when Grantaire crawled out of bed the next morning. “Where did you disappear to last night?”

Grantaire sat down at the kitchen table, face buried in his hands. “Don’t ask.”

“I don’t suppose it has anything to do with Enjolras?,” Jehan asked innocently.

All Grantaire could do was groan, he didn’t even want to think about how stupid he’d been the night before. He wouldn’t be able to look Enjolras in the eye ever again.

“Where’s Courfeyrac?,” Grantaire asked, smiling thankfully when Jehan put a mug of coffee in front of his nose.

“Still in bed.”

“Don’t you guys have classes?”

“We’re... taking the day off,” Jehan replied, smirking.

“I should probably do the same,” Grantaire mumbled and lay his head down on the cool surface of the table.

“Do you want some?” Jehan pointed at the eggs and bacon he was frying and started shovelling some on a plate when Grantaire nodded. Jehan was a gift when it came to breakfast. Or cooking in general. Grantaire reached for the plate he was holding out to him, but Jehan wouldn’t let him have it just yet. “Tell me about Enjolras first.”

“You’re evil,” Grantaire whispered.  He wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea to tell anyone, it was embarrassing, he flushed just thinking about it. “I kissed him,” he whined, “and it was fantastic and he’ll never speak to me again.”

If Jehan was surprised, he most definitely didn’t show it. “And why do you think that he won’t? I mean... did he kiss you back?”

“Well, yeah.” That didn’t mean anything. He told Jehan as much.

Jehan sighed and put the rest of the food on the two plates that were still sitting on the counter. “Talk to him,” Jehan said before he took the plates and left, probably returning to Courfeyrac.

Grantaire ate his breakfast sullenly, did the washing-up, and after that he went back to bed to brood for the rest of the day, unsure whether he should take Jehan’s advice or not.


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire spent half an hour wandering around helplessly, unsure where exactly he was going. He didn’t even know whether Enjolras was teaching a class right now or he was in his office. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was here at all, for all he knew he could be at home.

At first he’d wanted to wait until he ran into Enjolras again, but that hadn’t worked too well for him so far. He’d sat through another one of his politics lectures, this time with Courfeyrac right beside him in the last row, trying to convince him to go talk to Enjolras afterwards.

He hadn’t done it.

It had taken him days to convince himself to go see him, so he might as well keep looking.

After three people had pointed him into the wrong direction, he eventually found someone who knew what they were talking about and a few minutes later he was in the most remote part of the building, in front of a door with Enjolras’ name taped to it.

He could hear people talking inside, so he figured that at least Enjolras was there. He sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in front of Enjolras’ office, legs folded, his modern art textbook in his lap, waiting.

The door opened after what seemed like hours, and Enjolras came outside, accompanied by Combeferre, both of them stopping dead when they saw him.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said, first smiling down at him, then at Enjolras.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated, his tone not quite as friendly as Combeferre’s.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Grantaire confirmed. “Do you have a minute?” he asked Enjolras.

“Not really, Combeferre needed me to-” Enjolras started, but was interrupted by Combeferre.

“Actually, that can wait, I’ll talk to you later.” Combeferre patted Enjolras on the back and briefly nodded at Grantaire.

“Fine.” Enjolras gave Grantaire the faintest of smiles, waved goodbye to Combeferre and led Grantaire into his office.

It was more of a cupboard than an office, the walls were lined with shelves and there was desk crammed into a corner, along with two chairs. There was no window, Enjolras’ desk was full of folders that quite possibly hadn’t fit into the shelves and there was a coffeemaker on a little stool under his desk.

“Well, this is... cosy,” Grantaire mumbled and folded himself into one of the chairs.

“Well, it’s only temporary,” Enjolras explained and leaned against his desk. “How can I help you?”

“Right, so, you remember the other day?” Grantaire started, fiddling with his textbook, thinking there was no easy way to do this, no way to talk around it, so he might as well be straightforward about this. “When we... you know, when we kissed?” he added when all Enjolras did was look at him blankly.

“I do remember, yes,” Enjolras said eventually, carefully avoiding Grantaire’s eyes.

“Enjolras, I’m sorry, maybe that was a bad idea.” Grantaire stood up, not sure if he wanted to leave or if he wanted to kiss Enjolras again, because Enjolras was right in front of him, starting directly at him now. He was worrying at his lip, as if he didn’t quite know what to say to Grantaire.

Grantaire himself didn’t actually know what to say anymore either. Anyway, Enjolras was too distracting, now on eye level with him, so close to him in this excuse of an office.

He leaned in, the fact that he’d come here to _talk_ completely forgotten, not that Enjolras seemed to mind. Fingers crept into his hair, tugging, teeth nipped at his bottom lip, Grantaire could hardly breathe. He let go of his textbook, which landed on the floor with a thud, and pushed Enjolras against the table, at which he let out a disapproving noise, but didn’t push him away either.

Grantaire wrapped his fingers around Enjolras’ thighs to lift him up onto the desk, his lips never leaving Enjolras’. One of his hands settled in Enjolras’ curls, the other one on his back, while Enjolras’ legs wrapped around Grantaire’s waist, pulling him closer.

Enjolras tugged at his curls again, hard, insistent, kissed his way down Grantaire’s throat, where he came to a halt, face buried in Grantaire’s shirt. “We can’t do this,” he breathed.

Grantaire froze. Of course this had been too good to be true, but he felt like he needed some clarification. “What do you mean?”

“This, all of this,” Enjolras said, nosing along Grantaire’s jaw.

“You’re still sort of doing it, though,” Grantaire muttered. His voice sounded dangerously unsteady.

“I know,” Enjolras whispered and sat up. He pushed a stray curl out of his face and gently pushed Grantaire away from him.

Grantaire let him, because he looked like a mess and that was probably his fault. He wasn’t going to push him, but he also wanted to know what the hell was going on. “So... what now?”

“You’re a student here,” Enjolras said, his tone suddenly serious. He pushed himself off the desk and tried to flatten his hair. “It would be inappropriate.”

Grantaire huffed. He’d expected he’d get to hear something like this. “I’m not even one of your students, you can’t favour me or anything.”

“Still, it’s not...,” he trailed off and tugged at Grantaire’s shirt. “We shouldn’t.”

“Does _we shouldn’t_ mean that we won’t?” Grantaire asked and took a step towards Enjolras.

Enjolras sighed. “I don’t know.”

There was a knock on the door.

Enjolras looked up. “Just a minute,” he called and turned back to Grantaire. “Let’s talk about this some other time, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll come back... tomorrow or something.”

* * *

Grantaire did come back the next day and picked up some sandwiches and some coffee for Enjolras and himself on the way there. He hadn’t said a word to Courfeyrac or Jehan, because they’d listened to him whine about his problems for days and probably deserved a break. Eponine had got her fair share of his whining, though, but he’d made sure not to mention Enjolras’ name.

By the end of their shift, Eponine had been more than a little annoyed with him and had threatened that if he didn’t stop right this second he wouldn’t have to come back for his next shift. Grantaire had been wise enough to shut up at that.

This time, Grantaire didn’t have any trouble finding Enjolras’ office, however, Enjolras didn’t seem to be there. Again, he took out his textbook, a feeble attempt to get at least some studying done before Enjolras came back.

He’d stopped going to some of his classes, since his teachers usually didn’t care as long as he turned in his assignments on time or read up on what he’d missed at home. That way he could squeeze in a couple of extra shifts at the Musain.

“Grantaire, you’re here.”

He hadn’t even noticed that Enjolras had approached, until he was standing right in front of him and talking to him. Grantaire scrambled off his chair and stuffed his book back into his bag. “I told you I’d come back.” He held up the paper bag with the food. “And I brought food. I also brought coffee, but I drank all of it, I wasn’t sure when you’d get here and it was getting cold, so...” He shrugged.

Enjolras unlocked the door of his office and pushed Grantaire inside. “Thanks for bringing food, I’m starving.”

They ate in silence until Enjolras started complaining about how ignorant some of his students were, which somehow led to a discussion concerning the education system, which ended in them yelling at each other from different sides of Enjolras’ desk.

Enjolras sat back down when he’d decided that there was nothing left to say, still glaring at Grantaire, who remained standing, arms folded across his chest. He’d never wanted to slam Enjolras against a wall more than he did right now, something that Enjolras surely wouldn’t appreciate.

“I should go, I have a class to get to.” It wasn’t even a lie, he did have a class, he just hadn’t been planning on attending it until ten seconds ago.

Enjolras only nodded, but spoke up when Grantaire had his hand on the door handle. “Grantaire, you’ll have to give me a little time to think about this.” And by _this_ , Grantaire figured, he probably didn’t mean the education system.

Sure, he could do that. Not that he liked the idea. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said firmly. “Besides, it’s not like we can’t see each other at all.”

Grantaire grinned. “Is it okay if I come back tomorrow?”

Enjolras’ smile was answer enough.

It became somewhat of a habit from then on. Enjolras would tell him when he had classes to teach, so Grantaire wouldn’t show up an hour early anymore. Sometimes Enjolras would bring food for them, sometimes Grantaire would.

Enjolras would grade papers, sighing his way through one after another, Grantaire laughing quietly, sketching and reading. He’d never got so much work done before, because Enjolras sure was hard to distract, even though Grantaire did his best to do so.

Of course he tried to give Enjolras enough space, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. When he pressed a kiss to Enjolras’ temple before he left one day, Enjolras didn’t even protest, only smiled up at him and reminded him that it was his turn to bring something to eat the next day.

* * *

When Grantaire walked to Enjolras’ office the following Monday, he found him outside in the corridor, talking to Marius about some paper he’d handed in that was in need of some serious revision.

Enjolras shot Grantaire a warning glance as soon as he saw him approach them. It was too late to turn around and walk away, so Grantaire joined them, waving awkwardly.

“Grantaire,” Marius said, eyes wide in wonder, “what are you doing here?”

Grantaire forced a smile. He was on the verge of telling him that he’d got lost. Or something equally ridiculous. “I just wanted to pick something up for Courfeyrac,” he said, looking at Enjolras, hoping he’d get the hint.

Thankfully, he did. “Right, just a minute,” Enjolras said and disappeared into this office.

“Why are you picking stuff up for Courfeyrac, is he sick?” Marius looked genuinely worried, which would have been sweet if Grantaire hadn’t been so annoyed.

“No, I think he just didn’t have time,” Grantaire grumbled and thanked Enjolras curtly when he handed him some loose sheets of paper.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d been looking forward to meeting Enjolras, he just noticed it now that it became clear that he couldn’t stay. Marius would surely think it was weird if Grantaire stuck around to have a chat with Enjolras.

“See you,” Marius called after him when he left.

Grantaire turned the corner, face red, clutching the sheets of paper that Enjolras had handed him. It was the printed version of an email, an invitation to some conference in a couple of weeks.

Grantaire took his phone to ask Enjolras if he wanted it back, secretly hoping that he would tell him when Marius was gone, so he could go see him after all.

_Why don’t you bring it over to my place tonight_ , came the reply only a couple of minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breaking news: I remembered that this fic exists  
> (sorry this update took so long, but other fics happened, you know what it's like)


	9. Chapter 9

“Just so we’re clear,” Grantaire mumbled against Enjolras’ neck, nipping at the skin there, “I’m really not complaining, but what now?”

Enjolras squirmed. “I didn’t actually plan this, you know.”

“So, when you invited me to come over, you didn’t think this would end with me fucking you into your mattress?” Grantaire asked and started kissing along Enjolras’ jaw. He was somehow expecting Enjolras to throw him out and tell him that this was a one-time-thing, that they couldn’t possibly keep doing this and that he hadn’t meant for this to happen.

“Not exactly,” Enjolras whispered. “I mean, I wasn’t counting on it, I just...” He trailed off and groaned as Grantaire’s hand wandered lower. “Grantaire.” His voice was low, a little strained. “ _Grantaire_ ,” he said again, more insistent now.

“Hm?” His fingers trailed upwards again, over Enjolras’ ribs, traced his collarbones, until Enjolras caught his hand in his.

“No one can know about this,” Enjolras said, his tone serious all of a sudden. Well, Grantaire had figured that much.

“I can keep my mouth shut,” Grantaire muttered.

“Good.” Enjolras’ fingers crept into his hair, tugging just hard enough.

Grantaire hummed contently. “So, we can do this again?” He lightly scratched down Enjolras’ side, fingernails digging deep at his hip, drawing a hiss from his lips.

“If you want to.”

“Now?” Grantaire already knew the answer. The way Enjolras was clutching at his back, drawing him closer, the way his breathing sped up when Grantaire slowly stroked his half-hard dick was answer enough, but Grantaire wanted to hear him say it.

“Sounds good to me.” It was only a breathless whisper, but it was more than enough for Grantaire.

He loved those little sounds Enjolras made when he straddled his hips and started kissing his way down his chest, sucking bruises here and there, relishing that he was allowed to do this, that Enjolras whimpered when Grantaire sucked at a nipple, that he was begging for more while Grantaire slowly took him apart. It was different this time. It wasn’t as rushed, because they’d done this before, now there was time to explore.

Grantaire still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here. Enjolras had opened the door for him, he didn’t remember who’d made the first move, or who’d started tearing the other’s clothes off. The sheets of paper Grantaire had brought back lay scattered next to the door where he’d dropped them, completely forgotten.

Grantaire sighed when Enjolras wrapped his sheets around the both of them. He couldn’t stay all night, because Courfeyrac would be worried, probably already was, because Grantaire had told him that he was going out for a walk. Sure, he might have ended up in a pub, but even pubs closed at some point.

He kissed Enjolras one last time, then he slipped out of the bed. It was better to leave now, otherwise he’d fall asleep.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras sat up and watched him collect his clothes.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, whose curls were a mess, chest covered in small bruises. Other than that he didn’t look happy at all, though. “I’m leaving,” Grantaire said and pulled on a sock. “And I can’t find my other sock.”

“You don’t have to...” Enjolras tugged his fingers through his curls. “I mean... if you want...” He trailed off again. “Please stay,” he said eventually.

Oh, and Grantaire would have loved to, but it really wasn’t a good idea. “I can’t.”

Enjolras made a face. He somehow managed to look even younger than Grantaire, which didn’t seem fair at all.

“If you don’t want anyone to find out about this it’s better if I go home. Courfeyrac _does_ notice when I’m not there in the morning or when I sneak into the flat in the middle of the night.”

“I see,” Enjolras grumbled and let himself fall back against the pillows.

Grantaire fished his second sock out from under the bed. “I’ll bring you lunch tomorrow,” he promised and left to collect the rest of his clothes.

* * *

“Oh my god, what happened?” Courfeyrac was inches from his face, eyes wide, a smile playing around his lips.

“Nothing,” Grantaire muttered and tried to hide behind his sketchbook. Of course Courfeyrac would notice.

“You look happy,” Courfeyrac said. His eyes narrowed. “You never look that happy.”

“I’m not happy.” Grantaire tried to look as grumpy as possible, but didn’t quite manage. “Really, leave me alone, go be disgustingly cute with Jehan or something.”

“Oh, you got laid.” Courfeyrac sat down on the sofa next to him and snatched Grantaire’s sketchbook from him. “Tell me everything.”

“I didn’t,” Grantaire insisted and made an attempt at getting his book back. “I need to do work.”

“You can’t fool me,” Courfeyrac whispered. “I know you, tell me.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right. Now give that back.”

Courfeyrac hid the sketchbook behind his back. “ _Nooo_ , details first. Do I know them?”

“No, you don’t.” Well, at least that sounded somewhat convincing. Grantaire hadn’t thought that this would be so hard to lie about. He hardly had secrets from Courfeyrac, he’d never had anything to hide, and if he told him about Enjolras, he could trust him not to say a word to anyone. But he’d made a promise to Enjolras.

“But it was good, right?” Courfeyrac smiled at him knowingly.

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes, it was. Will you leave me alone now?”

“Fine, be like that.” Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out and dropped the sketchbook in his lap as he left.

Grantaire huffed.  This wouldn’t be easy and he could only hope that Courfeyrac wouldn’t tell Jehan, because there was no doubt that he’d know.

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras greeted him when he opened the door for Grantaire.

“Bad time?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras didn’t look like he minded that he was there, but he seemed tired and stressed. He probably should have called first, he hadn’t even known if Enjolras would be home yet, he’d just figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“I just have a lot of work.” Enjolras tugged him inside anyway.

Grantaire followed him into his bedroom, where he had books laid out all over the bed, a stack of files on his nightstand, his laptop balanced on a couple of books. “Just a second,” Enjolras mumbled and moved some of the books to the floor. He took Grantaire by the hand and pulled him onto the bed with him. “I need to finish reading this, don’t distract me.”

Grantaire hummed and nuzzled at his neck. “Why do you need to read all that anyway?”

“For the conference,” Enjolras said and picked up one of the books. Grantaire nipped at his earlobe. “That’s what I meant when I said _don’t distract me_.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispered and made a show of staying very still. He relaxed against Enjolras and closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opened his eyes again, Enjolras was typing away on his laptop, the book was balanced on Grantaire’s thigh. “I’m not a bookshelf,” Grantaire mumbled.

“You’re awake,” Enjolras mused, but didn’t move the book.

“Hm, and you’re still not done.”

“I actually was done, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, so I found something else to do.” Enjolras closed the laptop and set it down, so he could pull Grantaire on top of him. Neither of them cared when the book landed on the floor with a thud.

“Yeah, definitely awake now,” Grantaire muttered and looked down at Enjolras. “It’s really worth skipping classes for this.”

“You’re skipping classes?” It was almost funny how outraged he sounded.

“Of course, I’m a student, what did you expect?” Grantaire huffed in protest when Enjolras pushed him off his lap. It was done gently, but the intent was clear. “Oh, come on,” Grantaire said, “Don’t tell me you never skipped classes.”

“I don’t want you to skip classes because of me.”

“Hey, no need to use the teacher voice, I’m not doing it because of you.” Grantaire let his fingers wander up Enjolras’ thigh. “I’d do it anyway, what does it matter if I come here or go somewhere else.”

Enjolras’ lips were a thin line and he was frowning at him. Grantaire wanted to smooth the lines out with his fingers, wanted to kiss him, wanted to make him to stop looking at him like this. He should have kept his goddamned mouth shut, but it was too late now.

“I’m doing fine, okay?” Grantaire said now, “It’s not like I’m going to fail my classes.”

“Still, it’s irresponsible.”

“What does it matter to you?” Grantaire asked, his voice a little louder than he’d planned.

“Do you listen to yourself sometimes? You’re not stupid Grantaire, you just spend a lot of time convincing people that you are. You act like you don’t give a damn about anything, like nothing matters to you, why would you do that? You have so much potential, why don’t you-”

Grantaire stumbled off Enjolras’ bed, he’d heard enough, he didn’t want to listen to this anymore, he didn’t want to look at Enjolras anymore. He walked straight through the door and didn’t stop when Enjolras called his name.

The front door didn’t bang nearly loud enough for his taste when he slammed it shut. He thought about calling Courfeyrac for a second, but decided against it, it wasn’t a good idea to get him involved.

He’d find the nearest pub and have a drink first. Maybe two. Or five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating, just to be sure... I'm not really good at rating fics, sorry if I'm doing it wrong.


	10. Chapter 10

“So,” Jehan said as he waltzed into his room, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire replied. He was in a bad mood, as he’d been all week. He hadn’t got any work done and had spent way too much time lying on his bed starting at the ceiling, contemplating. “Where’s Courf?”

“Oh, he’s still at work.” Jehan sat down at his feet, poking at his legs. “He gave me his key. I didn’t break in, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t be worried if you broke in, honestly,” Grantaire muttered.

Jehan giggled. “What makes you so sure that I wouldn’t just murder you in your sleep?”

Grantaire frowned at Jehan, who was smiling sweetly. “Dude, that’s the creepiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Sorry,” Jehan mumbled. “Anyway, you look miserable, do you want to talk about it?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “No.”

“I gather things aren’t going too well with Enjolras?”

“Well, there’s nothing at all going on with Enjolras,” Grantaire said slowly.

Jehan looked at him pointedly. “Honestly, I’m not saying Courfeyrac is ridiculously stupid, because he doesn’t realise that you’re sleeping with Enjolras, but he sort of is. You’re not fooling me, though.”

“I’m not sleeping with Enjolras.” It wasn’t even a lie, he wasn’t, not anymore.

“Well,” Jehan said cheerfully, “if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

* * *

Grantaire stared at his unfinished painting, deeply dissatisfied. His gaze flickered to the canvas behind the door, all red, then he grabbed his biggest brush. Ruining his paintings was becoming somewhat of a habit, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn.

One angry stroke and he’d left a trail of red across the canvas, then another and another, followed by a blue one, then a black one. There were paint splatters all over his clothes, on his bedsheets as well, and on the sheet of plastic on the floor.

Grantaire dipped his fingers into dark red paint and drew them across the painting. He smiled, tugged his fingers through his hair without realising what a mess he was making, then he stilled when the doorbell rang.

He thought about not answering for a few seconds, he looked like he’d just killed someone, with the still wet paint dripping from his fingers.

The doorbell rang again, then there was a knock on the door, so Grantaire set out to check who it was. Could be their landlord, could be Jehan, who’d come over early to hang out with Grantaire. He was hoping for the latter.

When he opened the door with his elbow, however, he found Enjolras there, dressed neatly as always, probably on his way home from work, his curls a little windswept, his cheeks flushed.

Grantaire stared at him wordlessly, waiting for Enjolras to speak.

“Grantaire,” he said, eyes flickering to Grantaire’s hands, then back to his face. “I’m not going to apologise for what I said.”

What the fuck was he doing here then? Grantaire sighed. He probably shouldn’t have expected anything else from Enjolras. “Okay?”

“I meant what I said, but I realise it wasn’t my place to do so in the first place, it’s your life after all, you’re an adult, you get to decide what you want to do with it.”

_Damn right_ , he wanted to say, but he only nodded.

“I brought you lunch.” Enjolras held up a brown paper bag. “I got it at the Italian restaurant across from campus, I think you said you liked it?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said warily. Part of him wanted to ask Enjolras to come in, part of him wanted him to leave as quickly as possible.

“Here, take it.” Enjolras held out the bag for him, a faint smile playing around his lips.

Grantaire looked down at his paint-stained hands, shrugged, and took the bag from Enjolras. It was probably the closest thing to an apology he’d get, so he might as well accept it. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you around, hopefully,” Enjolras said and turned to leave.

“Wait...” Oh god, why did his mouth always act on its own accord.

Enjolras turned around, looking almost... well, hopeful. “Yes?”

“Come in, Courfeyrac isn’t here, he won’t be home for a while.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, as he stepped inside, “he’s in Combeferre’s afternoon class.”

Grantaire closed the door quietly, then he turned to Enjolras. They stood facing each other for what felt like an eternity, neither of them daring to make a move, until Grantaire put down the food, and pulled Enjolras into a kiss.

God, he’d get paint all over Enjolras’ clothes, Grantaire was sincerely hoping that he didn’t have another class to teach later on.

They stumbled into his room, carelessly dropping their clothes on the floor, and Grantaire thought that maybe he should warn Enjolras, then again, he’d already ruined his shirt, it probably couldn’t get much worse.

“I bet your lunch is cold now,” Enjolras said later on. There was a splotch of paint on his cheek, some traces of red in his hair, some faint streaks on his chest.

Grantaire chuckled. “We have a microwave.”

They fell silent and Grantaire watched Enjolras looking around his room. He was pretty sure he’d been in here before, on the day he’d come over to check on him when he’d been sick.

Enjolras turned over, his fingers tracing Grantaire’s jawline. “I should get going, Courfeyrac will be home soon.”

“Right,” Grantaire grumbled. He felt like he should say something more than that. _I’m not angry anymore, let’s forget about what happened, let’s just pretend everything’s fine._ “I’ll bring you lunch tomorrow, yeah?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Enjolras said, kissed him on the forehead and went to collect his clothes, his expression carefully blank when he regarded the stains on his shirt.

* * *

Enjolras seemed to know Courfeyrac’s schedule a lot better than Grantaire did, because the following week he showed up again, on a different day and in the afternoon this time, and he brought a piece of chocolate cake instead of lunch.

Grantaire still went to Enjolras’ whenever he had time, either he went to his flat after work, or he ditched classes to make time for him, a fact Enjolras was now carefully avoiding bringing up. He hardly visited him at his office anymore, simply because he’d run into Marius one time too many, because even though Marius might not realise that Grantaire wasn’t actually supposed to be there, he might tell someone who did.

Jehan obviously kept throwing him knowing looks, especially when Grantaire showed up at one of their meetings at the Musain for no apparent reason.

“I’m pretty sure Jehan knows about us.” Grantaire thought it would be best to bring it up, because Enjolras was so keen on keeping their relationship, whatever exactly that was, a secret.

Enjolras was lying next to him, head pillowed on his arm, frowning. “What makes you think so?”

“Well, for starters, he asked me about it,” Grantaire said, not looking at Enjolras. “That was a while ago, though, and I didn’t tell him anything, but I’m a horrible liar, so... yeah.”

“He’s not going to tell anyone, right?” Enjolras asked.

“No, of course not.” If there was anything he was sure about, it was that he could trust Jehan completely, even if it was a secret he hadn’t even shared with him yet.

Enjolras sighed. “You might as well tell him. I told Combeferre.”

“You told Combeferre?” Grantaire finally turned to look at him. “So, you get to tell other people and I don’t, is that how it works?”

“I just needed someone to talk to,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire huffed angrily. “And you think I don’t?”

“That’s not what I-”

Grantaire interrupted him by pressing his hand over his mouth. He’d heard something that had suspiciously sounded like voices outside the door. Courfeyrac wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour, but maybe he’d decided to head home early.

A key turned in the lock. “Oh shit,” Grantaire mumbled, quickly jumped out of bed and slammed the door to his room shut. “You need to, um...” He gestured at the window and pulled on his boxers. “I’ll distract Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras had already started pulling his jeans on. “Out the window?” he whispered incredulously.

“You can also hide in the closet,” Grantaire shot back.

“Grantaire, are you home?” Courfeyrac called. It sounded like he was right outside the door.

Grantaire winked at Enjolras, then he quickly walked out into the hallway, where he did find Courfeyrac, looking at him, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. “Yeah?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac smirked. “Did you lose your clothes?”

“I got paint on them,” he said quickly.

“That’s not something you usually care about,” Courfeyrac mused, stepping closer. “Do you have a guy in there?”

“No,” Grantaire said, maybe a little too quickly.

“A girl?” Courfeyrac tried, grinning broadly now.

“No,” Grantaire repeated, rolling his eyes.

Courfeyrac laughed. “Both?”

“No, really, I was just trying to finish a project for one of my classes, okay?” He was trying to sound moderately annoyed, so Courfeyrac would leave him alone. At least Enjolras would be out the window by now.

Courfeyrac sighed. “How boring.” He turned around and wandered into the kitchen. “You need to get laid,” he called over his shoulder.

Grantaire slipped back into his now empty room as soon as Courfeyrac was out of sight. He found Enjolras’ blue dress shirt on the floor, the holey grey shirt he’d been wearing was missing. It was something Enjolras did quite often, because he knew Grantaire would pay him a visit to bring his clothes back sooner or later.

He carefully hid Enjolras’ shirt, then he got dressed, hoping Courfeyrac wouldn’t question him a little more when he joined him in the kitchen.  


	11. Chapter 11

Grantaire had underestimated how serious Courfeyrac had been about the whole _you need to get laid_ business. He didn’t even realise what was happening in the beginning, he just thought that Courfeyrac was being, well, Courfeyrac.

He dragged him out, into pubs and clubs, and that on its own wasn’t unusual, it was just that after a while Courfeyrac started bringing _friends_ he wanted to introduce to Grantaire. Friends who seemed to want to get to know Grantaire a little better than he was comfortable with. It got even worse around New Year’s Eve.

After that, Grantaire decided that he needed to put his foot down.  “Courfeyrac, you need to stop,” Grantaire said to him one night on their way home from an incredibly awkward evening at some pub Grantaire had never been to before and had no desire to go back to.

“Oh, come on, what’s got into you.” Courfeyrac threw an arm around his shoulders. “You’ve never been picky. Or opposed to getting laid, for that matter.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want you to pick someone for me to sleep with,” Grantaire hissed. He hadn’t meant for it to sound quite this cross, but enough was enough.

Courfeyrac only rolled his eyes. “Fine then, come to the Musain tomorrow evening and we’ll go out after our meeting and then _you_ can pick someone.”

“That’s not what I... I’m not coming to the Musain.”

“Why not?” Courfeyrac whined. “Is it because of Enjolras? You guys haven’t even been arguing that much recently, right?”

Grantaire nearly had a heart attack at the mention of Enjolras’ name, something he’d got used to, because it happened every goddamned time someone said his name in Grantaire’s presence. It was simply because he was expecting the worst, which would be that someone had found out about how Grantaire liked to spend his Friday evenings. And Saturday mornings. And other days of the week that didn’t follow a regular pattern.

The whole thing was ridiculous, and had been ridiculous from the very beginning, because no sane person would think Enjolras would do anything but look down on someone like Grantaire, no one would ever suspect anything, not when it came to the two of them.

Technically, there was nothing to worry about. Jehan pointedly didn’t mention Enjolras to Grantaire unless he had to, Courfeyrac was quite obviously blissfully unaware, really, the only one who was worrying him was Combeferre.

Grantaire hardly knew Combeferre. Courfeyrac had been in many of his classes, apparently he was a fantastic teacher, kind and patient, every student’s favourite, but to Grantaire he somehow was terrifying. There was something about him that made quite clear that it was a bad idea to mess with him.

He’d run into him once, on the way to Enjolras’ office, had greeted Grantaire and had thrown him a glance that had said _I know exactly where you’re going and I disapprove_. Unmistakably. Grantaire had managed a smile somehow and had promised himself that he’d spend the rest of his life avoiding Combeferre.

That, however, was easier said than done.

Since Grantaire hadn’t managed to come up with an adequate excuse as to why he couldn’t come to the Musain, he now found himself on a bench exactly there, wedged between Courfeyrac and Combeferre, of all people.

It hadn’t bothered Grantaire throughout the meeting, he’d listened to Jehan talk about some fundraiser, but only half-heartedly, since he’d only had eyes for Enjolras, but now Enjolras was busy talking to Jehan, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre were talking most animatedly over Grantaire’s head, but he could feel Combeferre’s glance boring into him every time he even so much dared to look at Enjolras.

Leaving was probably his best option right now.

When he moved to get up, though, Courfeyrac caught him by the elbow. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” Grantaire said, sounding about as grumpy as he felt.

“Dude, we had plans,” Courfeyrac complained. He did look slightly worried, though, and Grantaire already felt bad for ditching him.

“We did?” Jehan asked from across the table.

“Well, Grantaire needs a wingman.”

“Does he?” Enjolras asked icily.

“I do not,” Grantaire said immediately, hoping that Enjolras would understand that this hadn’t been his idea, but going by his frown he probably didn’t. Great. “Listen, I’m tired, I just want to go to bed, okay?”

“Sleep well,” Jehan said with a wink, “Courf will be staying with me tonight.”

“Right,” he mumbled as he freed himself from Courfeyrac’s death grip. “It was nice seeing you all,” Grantaire called and climbed off the bench. He was out the door before his brain could convince him to take one last look at Enjolras.

He’d have to explain himself, preferably soon, because he didn’t want Enjolras to think that he was... well, cheating on him, if that was what he would be doing. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure if you could cheat on someone you weren’t in a relationship with.

He was just trying to decide on the best course of action, when he heard Enjolras calling his name behind him. When he turned around he could see Enjolras walking toward him, well, striding more like, without a jacket and a stern look on his face.

“So,” Enjolras said when they were face to face, “you need a wingman?”

“Don’t you think the others will be suspicious when you just come running after me like this?” Grantaire asked, not answering his question.

“I told them I was bringing you your pen,” Enjolras replied as if it were completely obvious.

“What pen?”

“This one,” he said and held it up.

Grantaire frowned. “That’s not mine.”

“Of course it’s not,” Enjolras said impatiently. “It’s mine. But that’s not the point.”

“Yeah, right, so Courfeyrac has made it his mission to get me laid because he thinks I’m acting weird and apparently having rough sex with a stranger is supposed to fix that,” Grantaire said quickly. “Not that I want to.”

“So you’re not actually...” Enjolras trailed off and waved his hand around as if that was somehow supposed to tell Grantaire what he was trying to say.

Luckily, he did have a vague idea. “I’m not.”

“Good, that’s good,” Enjolras mumbled. He looked incredibly relieved and Grantaire really wanted to kiss him. “I don’t want you to see other people.”

“I’m not,” Grantaire said again, briefly wondering if that meant that they were exclusive or if that required further discussion. “You better get back inside,” he added when he saw Enjolras shiver. “I’ll see you around. Soon-ish.”

“Why don’t you...” Enjolras fished his keys out of the pockets of his jeans. “You could go to my place and wait for me there. I won’t be too much longer.”

“You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.” Enjolras smiled one of those rare small smiles. “Make yourself at home.”

Grantaire nodded. “Well, I’ll see you in a bit then.”

It wasn’t far to Enjolras’ flat and Grantaire knew the way very well. It was strange to know that Enjolras wasn’t going to be there when he arrived, that he’d be the one to unlock the door, that he’d be alone there with all of Enjolras’ possessions, with his bookshelves and his sacred laptop and his beloved coffee machine.

The fact that Enjolras let him do this without so much as a second thought came as a bit of a surprise. Grantaire usually didn’t spend much time at Enjolras’, he only sometimes he stayed the night, when he knew that Courfeyrac would be with Jehan and no one would notice when he crept back into their flat at the crack of dawn.

He hadn’t missed that Jehan had told him where Courfeyrac would be spending the night, lovely Jehan who was looking out for him even though all Grantaire did was lie to him. If it counted as lying when the other party knew exactly what was going on.

Grantaire was simply denying Jehan’s accusations, but as Jehan had told him, he wasn’t fooling him.

Enjolras’s flat seemed foreign without Enjolras in it, but Grantaire got used to it rather quickly. At first Grantaire inspected Enjolras’ DVD collection and wasn’t as appalled as he thought he’d be, then he found himself a bag of crisps in the kitchen when he, unsurprisingly, didn’t find a drop of alcohol anywhere.

He grabbed a blanket and made himself comfortable on the sofa, doodling absent-mindedly on a notepad whilst watching shitty reality TV.

It was at least another hour until Enjolras finally rang the doorbell, Star Wars IV was on TV and Grantaire had just started to thoroughly enjoy himself. Enjolras kissed him chastely after he’d closed the door, glanced at the TV and flopped down on the sofa, drawing Grantaire with him.

“Were you watching that?” Enjolras asked quietly when Grantaire settled next to him on the sofa.

Grantaire shrugged. “I’ve already seen it a hundred times.”

“And did you want to watch it for a hundred and first time?”

“Well, I was, but now you’re here.”

“I’ll still be here when the film is over.” Enjolras tugged him closer until Grantaire was basically lying on top of him. “Anyway, I haven’t seen Star Wars since Combeferre made me watch it. And that was a while ago.”

Grantaire decided that it was better not to comment on that.

It was strange, not in a bad way, but still. They didn’t cuddle. Not while they were wearing clothes. But now Enjolras had one hand draped around Grantaire, and he was playing with his curls, not uttering a single word of complaint, which was unusual in itself, and every now and then he pressed a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head.

By the end of the film Enjolras was yawning and looking at Grantaire with sleepy eyes. “Do you mind if we just go to bed?”

“What?”

“Would it be alright if we scratched the sex part today and just went to bed?”

Grantaire blinked at him, still not quite comprehending. “You want me to stay?”

“Sure, if you want to, that is.” Enjolras looked uncertain all of a sudden. “I mean, my office hour starts at two tomorrow afternoon, but as far as I know you’re free in the morning, right? Anyway, I can drive you home if you don’t want to spend the night.”

“No, yeah, I’ll stay.” He had two classes in the afternoon and an evening shift at the Musain to look forward to the next day, he’d gladly spend the morning with Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I realise I haven't updated this in a while, but it still has tons of subscribers, so I thought another update might be in order. And yeah, maybe I'll even update this regularly from now on, who knows.


	12. Chapter 12

When Grantaire woke up the next morning, Enjolras was still fast asleep, which was a bit of a novelty, because he usually got up early, had a cup of coffee and immediately read the news and went to work way too early. Or at least that was how it usually worked.

Grantaire watched him for a bit, the steady rise and fall of his chest, smiling at him when he finally stirred.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Enjolras mumbled, eyes fluttering shut again, blindly reaching out for Grantaire. “Come over here.”

Grantaire chuckled and scooted closer. “Good morning to you, too.”

Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire and sighed. “Hmm, you should stay the night more often.”

“Should I?” Grantaire asked, not quite sure what to make of that.

He could feel Enjolras nodding.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I like staying here,” Grantaire said slowly, “but every time I do you ask me if I don’t have homework to do, or you angst over people finding out about us, or you complain about how much work you have to do, which ultimately has me thinking that I’m in your way.”

“Those are all valid concerns,” Enjolras replied. “Your education is important and you-”

“Enjolras, we’ve been over this,” Grantaire interrupted. “Many times.”

“I know, I just don’t want you to neglect your schoolwork.”

Grantaire inched away from Enjolras. “I can’t believe we’re still arguing about this.” Sometimes it felt like they just couldn’t stop arguing. Well, most of the time it was just bickering, but it was annoying all the same. He just wished Enjolras would stop nagging him about his schoolwork, simply because it was none of his business.

“We’re not arguing, we’re just talking,” Enjolras grumbled.

“We’re never just talking.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice already had an all too familiar edge to it and Grantaire knew that he should tread carefully.

“When was the last time we had a conversation about... I don’t know,” he mumbled, keeping his voice as neutral as he could. He didn’t want Enjolras to think that this actually bugged him as much as it did. “I mean, what do I know about you, really? Nothing at all.” Grantaire took a deep breath and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “But whatever, we’re just having sex, right? It’s not like you owe me anything.”

So much for treading carefully.

“It’s not like you ever asked,” Enjolras snapped.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, because, yes, of course this was his fault. “Sure, why didn’t I think of that? You know what, maybe it’s because you’re so fucking inapproachable that I sometimes don’t even know if you want me here and then-”

“I’m not inapproachable.”

“And then,” Grantaire continued, ignoring Enjolras completely, “sometimes, like yesterday, you say things like you don’t want me to see other people, I mean what does that make us?”

He could hear Enjolras sigh, then a hand snuck into his hair, brushing back his curls. “I don’t know. I can’t take you out on dates, I can’t be your... boyfriend. Or whatever it is you’d like me to be. Not right now.”

“Not right now,” Grantaire repeated, nodding slowly. _Not right now_.

“Anyway, I doubt things between us would work if we were in a relationship.” Enjolras held up his hand to stop Grantaire from interrupting. “Before you say anything... if you think about it, I’m sure you’ll find you agree.”

Grantaire looked at him, at the tousled curls and the dark blue eyes, wondering if he’d get tired of waking up next to this truly amazing sight. Or if he would get tired of sharing pasta with him in his cramped office or even all their quarrels.  

Them being in a relationship would complicate things, they’d find even more things to argue about, surely, and it wouldn’t be easy. It would be a struggle more than anything else.

Grantaire wanted it.

“We could try,” he mumbled.

“We could,” Enjolras agreed. “But not right now.”

“I see,” Grantaire mused. He sounded pissed off even though he wasn’t, but it was too early in the morning for this kind of conversation and he hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

Enjolras sighed. “Please don’t be angry.”

“No, I understand,” Grantaire muttered, “I wouldn’t want to date me either.”

“I haven’t really had the time to properly think about any of this. Dating never was on top of the list of my priorities, so just be patient with me. Please?”

“Basically, what you’re telling me is that you don’t know what you want.”

“It doesn’t even matter what I want. Grantaire, I could lose my job because of this... thing.”

“I know that,” Grantaire said slowly, “and I don’t want you to lose your job, I just want you to make up your mind and figure out what the hell you want. Making out in your office and having sex is one thing, but watching movies together and staying the night and cuddling and you asking me not to see anyone else is an entirely different story.”

“I will,” Enjolras muttered.

“Thank you.”

Enjolras lazily started drawing patterns on Grantaire’s arm. “I was wrong,” he mumbled after a while.

Grantaire looked up. “About what?”

“I thought we wouldn’t be able to have an adult conversation about anything serious, but I think you just proved me wrong.”

Grantaire stretched, then he rolled on top of Enjolras, straddling his hips. “You know, strictly speaking I am an adult, it shouldn’t be surprising to you that I’m actually capable of doing adult things.”

“Well, why don’t you behave like an adult every once in a while, then?” Enjolras asked, smiling up at him.

“Ah, that’s boring. But sure, let’s do an adult thing. Let’s have morning sex, I’m pretty sure a lot of adults do that.”

“That was not what I was referring to, but sure, I’m not opposed to that suggestion.”

“Fantastic,” Grantaire mumbled and bent down so they were face to face. “Afterwards you can make me some adult breakfast.”

* * *

Grantaire knew Enjolras wouldn’t stay. He never stayed at Grantaire’s.

Tonight Courfeyrac was out on a date with Jehan and he’d told Grantaire they’d be going to some party on campus later on. Grantaire hadn’t been planning on meeting Enjolras this evening, but Enjolras had apparently found out that he’d be home alone, so he’d shown up with Thai food for dinner.

Afterwards they’d stumbled straight into bed and now Enjolras was fast asleep, fingers curled around Grantaire’s hand. He’d mumbled something about having worked all day between bites of food, so Grantaire didn’t really want to wake him up.

Anyway, it wasn’t like Enjolras had to go anywhere any time soon. It was only eight o’clock and Grantaire really wouldn’t mind staring at him another hour or two.

“You’re looking at me, aren’t you?” Enjolras mumbled, about half an hour later, eyes still closed, but smiling.

Grantaire hummed and squeezed Enjolras’ hand.

Enjolras groaned. “Was I drooling?”

“No, you were looking adorable, don’t worry.”

“I’m not adorable,” Enjolras protested and cracked an eye open. “What time is it?”

“Not time to leave yet,” Grantaire said and kissed him.

“We spend way too much time in bed,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Where else would we go?”

“Good point.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Grantaire asked. “We have Star Wars.”

“I think I’d prefer staying in bed to watching Star Wars, thank you very much.”

“I’m telling Combeferre that you turned down Star Wars.” Obviously Grantaire wouldn’t, he was still too afraid of Combeferre.

“Oh, go ahead, he already knows that I don’t appreciate science fiction.”

Grantaire chuckled. “I see.”

“I’m going to close my eyes again,” Enjolras mumbled and snuggled against Grantaire. “Do you mind? I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“I like coming here y’know,” Enjolras mumbled. He sounded like he was half-asleep already. “’s nice here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Hm,” was all Enjolras seemed to have to say to that.

Grantaire didn’t realise that he’d fallen asleep until the door of his bedroom banged open. “Grantaire have you seen my... _Enjolras_?”

Grantaire bolted upright immediately, scrabbling at the sheets, Enjolras blinked slowly, looking around in confusion until his eyes fell on Courfeyrac and yanked at the sheets as well.

Courfeyrac stood in the doorway, the light from the hallway shining right onto Grantaire’s bed. There really was no good explanation for any of this. Not for him and Enjolras sleeping in the same bed and not for both of them being naked.

“Courf, I told you to leave Grantaire alo— oh.”

“Hi guys,” Grantaire said, scratching his head. He didn’t dare look at Enjolras.

“What the hell?” Courfeyrac said slowly. “Are you guys... what the _hell_.”

“Well,” Enjolras said, clutching at the bedsheets, “um...”

It was probably the first time Grantaire had seen Enjolras speechless, but he didn’t really have time to cherish the moment.

“Someone tell me what’s going on,” Courfeyrac whispered, ignoring Jehan, who was trying to tug him away.

“It’s... exactly what it looks like,” Grantaire said, trying to suppress a hysterical giggle that threatened to escape him. This wasn’t funny. Not at all. Enjolras was going to kill him. Even though this technically wasn’t his fault. But he was still going to kill him.


	13. Chapter 13

“Holy shit,” Courfeyrac mumbled, gaping at them, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Okay, Courf, let’s leave them alone, this is really awkward for all of us,” Jehan said and tugged at Courfeyrac’s sleeve.

Courfeyrac didn’t even look at Jehan. “But—”

“No, seriously, this is really awkward,” Grantaire agreed. “At least let me put on clothes.”

“Fine, then,” Courfeyrac said dramatically and stomped off.

“Guys, I’m so sorry,” Jehan whispered before he shut the door and followed Courfeyrac.

Grantaire slowly turned his head to look at Enjolras, who surprisingly didn’t look angry at all. He felt like he should apologise anyway. “I’m sorry, I fell asleep and I didn’t think they’d get home this early, I mean, it’s not even midnight yet, they weren’t supposed to—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Enjolras said, pressing a finger to his lips. “You said Jehan knew already, right?”

“Well, I didn’t tell him, but yeah, I suppose.”

“And he didn’t tell anyone. Courfeyrac is trustworthy, too, so we’ll just explain everything to them, and it’s going to be fine.”

“You’re not angry,” Grantaire said slowly.

“This isn’t your fault.” Enjolras kissed him chastely. “Now put on some clothes.”

They found Courfeyrac in the living room, munching the leftovers of their dinner, with Jehan at his side, looking somewhat amused.

Grantaire cleared his throat noisily. “Right, so, Enjolras and I have been having sex for a couple of months now and it’s great and we’d both appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone about it, because it might cost Enjolras his job. Okay?”

“For a couple of months?” Courfeyrac asked. “Holy shit. How did I not know about this?” He turned to Jehan. “Did you know about this?”

“Well, it was pretty obvious,” Jehan mumbled.

“It was?” Courfeyrac asked incredulously.

“It was?” Enjolras echoed.

Jehan shrugged. “Grantaire wouldn’t say anything about it, but I had my suspicions.”

“Holy shit.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot,” Grantaire mumbled.

“Anyway,” Jehan said, “obviously we won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said, nodding in agreement. “Our lips are sealed,” he added and made a show of zipping his lips shut.

Enjolras smiled at him. “I appreciate that, I know I shouldn’t ask you to lie for me, but there really is no other way.”

“Don’t worry about it man, I’m glad you guys... worked out your differences.”

“Thanks, Courf,” Grantaire said dryly.

Courfeyrac grinned at them. Grantaire was pretty sure that he’d get to answer about a hundred more questions all day tomorrow.

“Well, I better head home,” Enjolras said. He squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“Actually you don’t have to go,” Courfeyrac cut in. “Not because of us, at least.”

“I’ll make breakfast tomorrow,” Jehan piped up.

“Yeah, Jehan is good at breakfast.”

“If you don’t mind,” Enjolras said to Grantaire.

Grantaire took him by the hand, smiling happily. “Not at all.”

“I suppose we need to talk about this,” Grantaire mumbled as he slipped back into bed.

Enjolras nodded. “And I suppose Courfeyrac will want to talk about this a little more as well.” Enjolras snuggled against him in a way that was completely unlike him – or maybe it wasn’t and Grantaire just didn’t know him well enough. It was hard to tell.

A lot of things were hard to tell with Enjolras. But that was an argument for another day, one that he’d been postponing over and over and over again.

“Looks like we have a lot of talking ahead of us,” Grantaire grumbled.

“Not tonight,” Enjolras whispered and nipped at Grantaire’s skin.

Grantaire hummed contently and pulled him closer, drifting off to sleep almost instantly.

Breakfast, it turned out, was more an interrogation than anything else. Jehan’s breakfast was delicious as always – he’d made pancakes, eggs and bacon, there was fruit and orange juice and coffee, and on top of that there was an incredibly curious Courfeyrac.

“So, how did this happen?” he asked, shredding a pancake with his fork. “How did I miss that this happened?”

“Well,” Grantaire said, side-eyeing Enjolras, who seemed to be fine with just letting him talk, “it just sort of did.”

“That answer wasn’t satisfying in the slightest,” Courfeyrac said, sticking out his bottom lip.

Jehan dropped another pancake onto Courfeyrac’s plate. “You know, they don’t have to tell you anything if they don’t want to.”

“But we’re friends.”

“You know, technically I’m your politics teacher,” Enjolras said, lips twitching.

“But you’re just a substitute, you’ll be done this summer.”

Grantaire carefully watched for Enjolras’ reaction, but it wasn’t much to go by, since his face remained carefully blank. Grantaire bit his lip, hoping Courfeyrac would ask the question Grantaire didn’t dare ask. Courfeyrac, as always, didn’t disappoint.

“You said we can’t tell anyone, right? Because you’re a teacher. So we just have to keep it a secret until you can officially start dating?”

Now it was Enjolras who snuck at glance at Grantaire. “I suppose,” he said.

“I don’t think it’d be a big deal if anyone found out, though. I mean, Grantaire isn’t even in any of your classes or anything, right? The art department is about as far from the politics department as possible.”

Enjolras shrugged. “I really don’t want to test that theory.”

After that their conversation turned into a different direction and Jehan excitedly told Grantaire about some art exhibit that still had a couple of open spots. Grantaire tried not to get his hopes up, but apparently it was pretty much a last minute thing, so there wouldn’t be too much competition.

Enjolras soon excused himself and headed back to his own place because he still had work to do, and Grantaire tried his hardest to pretend that he didn’t hear Jehan and Courfeyrac giggling when he kissed him goodbye.

Jehan, too, left shortly after and as soon as he was gone Courfeyrac came waltzing into the kitchen, where Grantaire was doing the dishes, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the couch. “Okay, tell me everything.”

“What else even is there that you don’t know already?” Grantaire asked, mildly amused.

Courfeyrac wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, you haven’t said anything about the sex yet.”

“And I’m not going to.”

“Oh, come on, he’s an older guy, I mean not that much older, but about five years at least, right? So I bet he knows all kinds of tricks. Like, I’m not saying that Enjolras gets around a lot, he has that really serious and academic thing going on, but have you seen him? No one in their right mind would say no to him, am I right or am I right?”

Grantaire grinned. “I’m not saying a word.”

“Please,” Courfeyrac whispered, “please, do this for me, tell me.”

“He’d kill me if I told you.”

“Ah no, he wouldn’t,” Courfeyrac said, “maybe he’d spank you, but I’m sure you’d find that quite enjoyable.”

“Courf, stop it,” Grantaire said, trying to keep a straight face.

“So, the sex is great, yeah?” Courfeyrac continued, completely unfazed. “How’s everything else? I mean, keeping this whole thing a secret is pretty hard, isn’t it?”

“It sucks,” Grantaire said simply. “I get why it’s important. Obviously I don’t want him to lose his job or anything, but I’m constantly scared of doing something wrong.” He shrugged. “At least I have someone who’ll listen to all my complaining now.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Anytime, man.” They fell silent, but then Courfeyrac gripped his arm all of a sudden. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“That one time I thought you were hiding a guy in your room...” He trailed off, shaking his head in wonder. “You said you weren’t, but you _were_.”

“Yeah, Enjolras had to climb out the window, he was a little pissed about that.”

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac said again. “So many things make sense now. Marius once told me that he met you outside Enjolras’ office because you were picking up stuff for me. But I knew for a fact that you weren’t picking up stuff for me. I never mentioned it because I thought that Marius might have been daydreaming or that maybe it wasn’t you after all, but it _was_.”

Grantaire coughed. “Well, I couldn’t think of a better excuse at the time.”

“Dude.” Courfeyrac elbowed him, and not gently. “Did you have sex in his office?”

“No,” Grantaire said immediately. Well, it had nearly happened. But only once. Maybe twice. Courfeyrac didn’t need to know that. “We usually just had lunch.”

“Adorable,” Courfeyrac whispered. “I still can’t believe you’ve been secretly dating.”

“I wouldn’t call it _dating_. I mean, sure, we spent some time together in his office, but usually we just...” He paused and shook his head. “Anyway, I hardly know anything about him, we mostly argued about stuff. Or discussed stuff, more like. But we’re not a couple.”

“I see,” Courfeyrac said thoughtfully. “It’s not like you don’t want to, though. You just can’t.”

“Basically.”

“But that’s not all of it?” Courfeyrac asked.

Grantaire sighed heavily. “Well, I don’t think someone like Enjolras would want to be in a relationship with me, even if he could.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I’m a massive fuck-up, Courf, you know that just as well as I do.”

“No, no, don’t say that, you’re starting to sound like your dad, I’m not having any of that. You’re talented and witty and Enjolras would be lucky to have you as his partner.”

“I’m also obnoxious and loud-mouthed and frequently drunk.”

“That’s all part of your charm.”

Grantaire snorted and leaned against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Thanks, Courf.”

Courfeyrac playfully ruffled his hair. “Anytime. Now, let’s pick some stuff to show to those art gallery people, so you can become all rich and famous and you can buy me a fast car and a flatscreen TV and tons of other rich people crap because you love me.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I’m going to die, why did I let you talk me into this? Honestly. This was a bad idea. A horrible idea. I don’t even get why they liked my paintings, my paintings are crap. Do you think there’ll be drinks? I mean, what kind of gallery opening would it be if there weren’t any drinks, right?”

“Yes, of course there will be drinks,” Courfeyrac said. He was sitting on Grantaire’s bed, dressed to the nines, lazily fixing his bowtie, not in the least disturbed by Grantaire’s ramblings.

Jehan nodded and grabbed Grantaire’s tie, which he really wasn’t intending on wearing. “You’re going to stay very, very far away from those drinks,” he said and slung the tie around his neck.

“Get that off,” Grantaire grumbled. “I don’t need a tie.”

“Yes, you do,” Jehan said in a sing-song voice. “Enjolras will be delighted, just think about that.”

“He’s not coming,” Grantaire said for what felt like the billionth time.

Enjolras had a meeting to attend and Grantaire really got that it wasn’t his fault, but if there was anyone he wanted there with him, besides Courfeyrac  and Jehan, it was Enjolras. The gallery had accepted two of his pieces and now he had to go to the opening, all his friends were coming, some of his art professors were coming, and he was trying his hardest not to freak out and hide in his closet with a bottle of tequila and wait until it was over.

“He said he’d come once his meeting is over,” Courfeyrac reminded him. “And he will.”

“What’s that meeting all about anyway?” Jehan asked as he tugged Grantaire’s tie into place. “No one in their right mind would hold a meeting on a Saturday night.”

Grantaire felt like he was being choked. “Annual politics department dinner bullshit. It’s not technically a meeting.”

“Combeferre’s going, too, but he said he’d join us as well,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

Grantaire groaned. Fantastic, just great.

“What’s your problem with Combeferre?” Courfeyrac asked curiously. “Are you jealous because Enjolras is spending so much time with him?”

Courfeyrac was obviously joking, but Grantaire flipped him off anyway. Just for good measure.

“He’s basically the nicest person on this planet, I just don’t understand why you don’t like him.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Grantaire muttered, “it’s just that he doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jehan said and patted his cheek.

Courfeyrac nodded in agreement. “He was really happy for you when you got the deal with the gallery. And anyway, why wouldn’t he like you?”

“Because he doesn’t approve. He probably thinks Enjolras can do better. And I can’t blame him, because he’s right. Enjolras could do a lot better, I mean, why does he even put up with me? He’s all sophisticated and basically the hottest person I’ve ever seen and I’m just-”

“Okay, stop it,” Jehan said and placed his hand firmly over his mouth. “You’re nervous and you’re talking bullshit and that’s just going to make it worse.”

“’m not talking bullshit,” Grantaire protested, his voice muffled by Jehan’s hand.

“Yes, you are. Courf, tell him he’s talking bullshit.”

“You’re talking bullshit, man. Now let’s go, otherwise we’ll be late.”

Grantaire could do nothing but comply.

* * *

“I’m going to die,” Grantaire whispered to Joly, the only one here who might take him seriously.

Joly, however, only laughed. “No, you won’t, don’t be ridiculous. Here, drink some water.”

Grantaire glared down into the glass of water he was handed and successfully stayed alive during what seemed like hours of handshaking and compliments, tried to make polite conversation with some of the other artists, but always kept close to his friends.

When he checked his phone for the fifth time within a minute, Jehan gently took it away from him. “He’s busy,” he said sternly, “and I’m sure you’ll notice when he gets here.”

Grantaire made a feeble attempt at getting his phone back. “But-”

“No,” Courfeyrac chimed in, “look at those two people over there instead, they look like they know shit about art and they’re smiling at your painting, look at that, you’re going to be famous, I knew it all along. I can’t wait. Promise you’ll introduce me to Beyonce.”

Grantaire frowned. “Why on earth would I ever meet Beyonce?”

“Isn’t that what famous people do? Meet other famous people all the time?”

“I’m not famous,” Grantaire grumbled.

“Well, not _yet_ ,” Courfeyrac whispered.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and spent the following fifteen minutes trying to get his phone back, but Jehan slipped it into the pocket of Bahorel’s jacket and Grantaire was well aware that Bahorel would kick his ass if he even so much as thought about stealing it back.

He halfway listened to a conversation Courfeyrac and Jehan were having about Marius, who seemed to have finally managed to go out on a date with Cosette and now kept texting Courfeyrac, freaking out just _a tiny little bit_ , as Jehan put it.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later when Grantaire finally spotted Combeferre, pretty much towering over everyone else in the gallery, smiling at them when he saw them all waving at him, but only him – Enjolras was nowhere in sight.

“Hello everyone,” Combeferre said and put an arm on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Enjolras will be here shortly, our head of department just wanted to have a quick word with him and he asked me to go ahead and come here to let you know.”

“Oh,” was all Grantaire managed, trying not to think too hard about what exactly they were talking about. What exactly would the head of the goddamned department want from Enjolras, what if he _knew_. What if they hadn’t been careful enough? What if anyone had found out about them?

Combeferre’s grip on his shoulder tightened ever so slightly. “I’m certain it’s nothing to worry about,” he said curtly, a whisper meant just for him.

Grantaire nodded, glad that Combeferre had come after all, because when he said that it was nothing to worry about, Grantaire actually almost believed him.

And Courfeyrac had been right, Combeferre really was nice. Right now he looked relaxed and he was smiling at Feuilly, who was dragging him off to show him around, and he didn’t look like he hated Grantaire at all, more like he was actually curious to take a look at his work, listening intently to what Feuilly was telling him.

“Where’s Enjolras?” Jehan whispered to him.

“Talking to important politics department people or something.” Grantaire shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. Which it probably wasn’t. “He’ll be here in a bit.”

Jehan smiled happily. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire agreed, “fantastic.”

“Why do you look like you’re scared shitless, then?”

“What if they found out about me and him?” Grantaire mumbled. “If he gets fired because of me he’ll hate me for the rest of his life.”

“Grantaire,” Jehan said, his expression serious, “calm down.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “I’m trying.”

“Very good,” Jehan chirped and hugged him briefly. “We all just want you to enjoy this, because you deserve the attention your work is getting.”

Grantaire smiled weakly and started watching the door, waiting for Enjolras to appear, which he did, mere ten minutes later, wearing a suit, his blond locks a little windswept. Grantaire was pretty sure he’d never been more attractive.

He hurried over to Enjolras immediately.

“Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Enjolras said as way of greeting. He looked tired, but otherwise he looked happy enough. Grantaire took that as a good sign.

“Don’t worry about it. Combeferre said they wanted to talk to you?” Grantaire asked anxiously. “Did they-”

“It wasn’t about us,” Enjolras said curtly.

Relief flooded over Grantaire and he finally managed a smile. “Good, that’s good. What did they want to talk about, then?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire didn’t miss the strain in his voice, but before he could ask any more questions, Enjolras tugged him back towards the paintings on display. “Which ones are yours?”

“Let me show you.” He refrained from just taking Enjolras’ hand – they were in public after all – and led him over to his paintings. “It’s those two.”

Enjolras looked at them, his expression one of immense concentration. Grantaire only had eyes for him, the slight frown creasing his forehead, his long, blond eyelashes, his blue eyes, darting over the paintings. He had a stunning profile and Grantaire would have rather stared at him all day than any of the painting in the gallery.

Grantaire tried not to be nervous, because dozens of people had already told him what fantastic pieces they were, Feuilly had hugged him and told him how proud he was, which maybe had been the biggest compliment of all, but this was Enjolras, and Enjolras’ opinion mattered to him more than anyone else’s.

“They’re beautiful,” Enjolras said quietly. He took a look around the slowly but steadily emptying gallery and reached over to quickly squeeze Grantaire’s hand. “I’m proud of you.”

Grantaire made a noise that had supposed to come out as a thank you, but he’d started choking up somewhere along the way, so he only grinned stupidly and refrained from dragging Enjolras off to a dark corner to do unspeakable things to him.

Enjolras must have realised what he was thinking about, because he smirked and whispered, “Later.”

Grantaire nodded. “Definitely.”

“I really like that suit, you know?”

“I really don’t,” Grantaire said lowly.

Enjolras smiled and nudged him gently back towards their friends. “At least you won’t mind when I take it off of you later on, then.”

* * *

Grantaire didn’t get to properly talk to Enjolras until they were sitting in Enjolras’ kitchen the following morning, both of them steaming mugs of coffee in front of them, together with half-empty plates.

“So,” Grantaire said, nudging Enjolras’ foot under the table, “what did they want to talk about yesterday?”

“They offered me a permanent position,” Enjolras said without much of a preamble, the words rushing out of him as if he’d been holding them in for a much too long time.

Grantaire remained silent, waiting.

Enjolras wouldn’t look at him, but when he spoke up again, his voice was quiet but determined. “Lately I’ve found that I quite enjoy teaching.”

Grantaire nodded. Sometimes Enjolras would talk about his students, and no matter what he said, he always spoke of them fondly. Mainly he seemed to like telling them how wrong they were, but that obviously didn’t just go for his students. Grantaire was used to it by now, too. Anyway, Enjolras liked his job, whether or not it had meant to be temporary, and Grantaire could hardly blame him for that.

“I’m not sure what it would mean for us if I accepted that offer,” Enjolras continued slowly, finally looking up, his blue eyes boring into Grantaire’s. “I certainly want to, but I’ve grown...” He paused, uncertainty sneaking into his voice. “I’ve grown fond of you, too, not just of my job, but I certainly don’t expect you to...” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What I’m trying to say is that I would like to continue our arrangement, but I would understand if you didn’t want to. I know you’re not quite happy with it.”

Grantaire bit his lip. A matter of months had just turned into a matter of years, now they’d have to wait until Grantaire was done with his degree, and Grantaire was willing to do many things for Enjolras, even this, but to him it seemed that Enjolras might not even want him to. Of course they could try to keep this up, but this was frustrating enough already. For both of them.

 “Grantaire,” Enjolras muttered, “say something.”

“Do you _want_ to keep doing this? Sneak around and pretend we hardly know each other when we see each other in public? Pretend that I crash your activist group meetings just for the hell of it?”

“Well, of course not,” Enjolras said calmly.

Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “Okay.”

“Obviously I don’t want to lie about our relationship anymore, but if I take this job, it’s what we’ll have to keep doing.”

“You say _if_ as if you haven’t already decided that you will.”

“I wanted to talk to you before I decided for sure.”

“Well, just take the damn job, but don’t expect me to be happy with our _arrangement_ ,” Grantaire almost spat the last word. It’s what it had been, though. Just an arrangement that had worked for both of them. Now it wasn’t just that anymore, but what they had was some kind of in-between thing that Grantaire couldn’t even begin to describe.

“Well, that’s all I can give you,” Enjolras said, poking at the remnants of his scrambled eggs with his fork, “if that’s not enough for you, maybe we should just...” He shrugged.

Grantaire took a deep breath. He felt like something in his chest was about to explode. “We should what?”

Enjolras pursed his lips. “Call it quits.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about you think about it?”

“It’s not that simple,” Enjolras said, sounding like he had to explain something incredibly easy to an incredibly daft person. “What if I can’t even have what I want? What if I want something I shouldn’t want?”

Enjolras wasn’t making any sense. To Grantaire this matter was quite simple, either Enjolras wanted him or he didn’t, and right now it sounded very much like the latter.

Grantaire stood up swiftly, looking down at Enjolras. “No, you know what, maybe you’re right.” He nodded to himself. “I, um... I’ll just go and... yeah, I’ll go.”

He felt numb, numb and like he was about to cry, and it just hurt, pulling his clothes from last night on hurt, seeing Enjolras watch him with an empty expression hurt, nodding goodbye without another word nearly tore him apart.

He didn’t go back home. He walked towards campus. To Jehan.


	15. Chapter 15

“Oh, honey,” Jehan whispered as he opened the door for Grantaire, “what happened?”

Grantaire only shook his head and let Jehan pull him against his chest, staying right there until Jehan pulled him back to his room, holding his hand all the while. Jehan made him sit down on his bed, slung a fluffy blanket around him and wiped a tear off his cheek.

Grantaire hadn’t even realised he’d started crying.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Jehan whispered and vanished, leaving Grantaire alone with his thoughts. He returned soon enough, carrying two mugs of tea, one of which he handed to Grantaire. Jehan waited until Grantaire had finished his tea until he spoke again, since he seemed to have realised that Grantaire wasn’t going to talk on his own accord. “Did something happen with Enjolras?” Jehan asked, slowly stroking Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire nodded and slumped against Jehan again, sniffling into his shirt, which he distinctly recognised as one of Courfeyrac’s. “Has Courf left already?” Grantaire whispered.

“Yeah, he left about an hour ago,” Jehan mumbled. “Do you want me to call him?”

Grantaire nodded again, glad that Jehan didn’t let go of him when he reached for his phone. He could hear Courfeyrac’s muffled voice when he answered the phone.

“Can you come over?” Jehan said quietly, leaning back, cradling Grantaire against his chest. “Grantaire is here. Something happened with Enjolras, so… can you please just come back?”

Grantaire didn’t hear Courfeyrac’s response. He closed his eyes and snuggled against Jehan, who didn’t seem to mind in the slightest and only patted his back.

“He didn’t say, just… yeah, see you in a bit,” Jehan said to Courfeyrac, then he hung up and turned to Grantaire. “Love, what happened? Did you fight?”

“We broke up,” Grantaire whispered, struggling to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it a breakup, since they’d never actually been dating, but he was too tired and he didn’t want to think about Enjolras anymore, he didn’t want to think about how ridiculous he must look, still wearing his suit from last night – although he’d left his tie at Enjolras’ and didn’t really care if he ever saw it again – cuddling up to Jehan, who was still wearing his pyjama trousers.

 Jehan didn’t ask any more questions, he just hugged him a little tighter and neither of them moved an inch until Courfeyrac arrived.

At some point they tried to get him to eat something, then Courfeyrac talked him into going back home to their own place, because he couldn’t stay at Jehan’s forever, as much as he wanted to. He didn’t want to face the outside world or talk to people or be anything that resembled a human being.

Grantaire stumbled out of his suit and put on the rattiest clothes he could find, then got himself a bottle of cheap wine from the kitchen and let Courfeyrac wrap him into a blanket.

The next morning, he called in sick, because Enjolras often came to the Musain to get coffee and a piece of chocolate cake, and at the moment Grantaire wasn’t sure what exactly he’d do if he saw Enjolras right now, but it definitely wouldn’t be pretty. He’d probably burst into tears and hide in the storage room.

He tried not to think about the zero missed calls or the texts Enjolras hadn’t sent, he tried not to wonder what Enjolras was doing, if his absence bothered him at all, if he had even thought about calling him or if he just plainly didn’t care.

Grantaire decided that he definitely wasn’t drunk enough for these kinds of musings, snuck into the kitchen, and didn’t answer Courfeyrac when he asked how he was doing, because, really, what was he expecting? That Grantaire felt like a happy-go-lucky fucking ray of sunshine? Certainly not. He sifted through their booze cupboard and found a half-empty bottle of tequila, with which he made his way back to his room, pretending he didn’t see Courfeyrac’s worried glances and didn’t hear his protests.

Grantaire then simply proceeded to lock himself in his room before Courfeyrac could do anything about it.

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac called, “what are you doing?”

“Suffering in peace,” Grantaire yelled back. He took a few sips of tequila, taking deep breaths as it burned down his throat, and the more he drank, the more his initial sadness turned into seething anger.

He should have known from the very beginning, he should have known that it would end like this – with him caring so much more than he should. It always happened, he allowed himself to give a crap and then he ended up disappointed and wanting to drown himself in an ocean of tequila.

Courfeyrac knocked on the door. “Please let me in.”

“Just leave me alone,” Grantaire grumbled. He knew Courfeyrac was worried about him, understandably, since Grantaire had spent hours crying into Courf’s favourite shirt the day before, but now he just felt like being alone.

There was some shuffling and then followed a noise that sounded suspiciously like Courfeyrac fiddling with his lock.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Grantaire asked, turned the key and yanked the door open. “You don’t know how to pick locks.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t try,” Courfeyrac said and marched into his room. “Now give old Courf a hug.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes and threw himself onto his bed, spilling some tequila on his pillow before he set the bottle down on his nightstand. Courfeyrac wrapped himself around Grantaire immediately, fingers running through his curls.

Grantaire had to admit that Courfeyrac was good at this.

“You didn’t hear from him, huh?”

Never mind, Courfeyrac wasn’t good at this at all.

“No, I didn’t,” Grantaire mumbled. “And I don’t want to talk about him either.”

“Maybe if you just talked to him, you could-”

“I don’t really see the point in that. It’s not like I have anything to say to him. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have anything to say to me either. He made it pretty clear that he doesn’t give a damn.”

“What if it was just a misunderstanding? He wouldn’t just decide that he doesn’t like you anymore all of a sudden.”

“Well, he didn’t like me all that much in the first place.”

“’Aire, that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But you guys seemed really happy lately. He didn’t just pretend to enjoy being with you all this time, believe me.”

“Please, can we stop talking about Enjolras?”

“Okay, just do me a favour and think about giving him a call.”

“No.”

Courfeyrac sighed deeply. “Fine, whatever. Jehan is coming over later and we’re going to watch a film.”

“Have fun,” Grantaire muttered.

“You’re going to watch a film with us.”

“No,” Grantaire said again. He didn’t need a pity party, it would just make him feel even worse.

“Grantaire, we’re just trying to help.”

“Help me by letting me drink myself into oblivion.”

“I don’t think that would make us very good friends.” Courfeyrac squeezed him tightly. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk about Enjolras, so we’ll make you forget all about him.”

They didn’t quite manage, although they did try their hardest, and when Grantaire fell into bed that night, his mind just wouldn’t shut up and he kept tossing and turning until he eventually got up again and started rummaging through his drawers and his closet, raiding for anything Enjolras might have left behind.

He didn’t find much, which wasn’t at all surprising, since Enjolras had hardly ever been here, he did dig up one of his dress shirts, though. Grantaire had somehow failed to return it and it had ended up shoved under his bed. The way he saw it, he had a number of options – burn it, give it back, bury his face in it until he passed out, tear it to shreds, shove it back under his bed and pretend he’d never found it. The list went on.

Grantaire tossed it across the room, angry with himself for even looking for it. It was four o’clock in the morning, he should be asleep. He had to go see one of his teachers about a project for the next term at nine and even though he couldn’t really bring himself to care much about it right now, he probably shouldn’t turn up looking like he’d risen from the dead.

Still, he watched the sun rise that morning, dozed off for about an hour, took the coldest shower imaginable and got a hug from Jehan before he went on his way.

The conversation with his teacher was about ninety percent praise for his deal with the art gallery, which he would have been happy about on a different day, but at the moment his head felt like it was about to explode and he still had the afternoon shift at the Musain to get through and absolutely no time to squeeze in any sleep whatsoever. He could only hope that Eponine would have mercy on him and forgive him for not being enthusiastic about making coffee this afternoon.

“You look like shit,” she greeted him, when he came walking into the café.

Grantaire managed something that faintly resembled a grin. “It’s great to see you, too.”

“Have you considered taking a nap?” Eponine asked.

“Helpful as always, ‘Ponine.”

She shrugged. “You called in sick yesterday, I wasn’t really expecting you to show up today.”

“I’m okay,” Grantaire mumbled, looking around for something to do, so he didn’t need to have this conversation.

“You don’t look okay,” Eponine said, eyes narrowed. She reached out to feel his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

“Stop it,” Grantaire said and tried to bat her hand away. “I’m not sick. It was just… a personal thing.”

“A golden boy related issue?”

“Maybe,” Grantaire allowed.

“If it is, I’m going to tell you that he was already here this morning, so he probably won’t be showing up again today. Anyway, if you’re sure you want to stay, have an espresso, then go wipe tables.” With that she threw a rag at him and marched off.

Luckily Eponine had been right and Enjolras didn’t come into the Musain, to Grantaire’s immense relief. Who did show up, however, was Combeferre. Dressed meticulously as ever, fogged up glasses sitting dangerously low on his nose, his hair just a little dishevelled. He smiled when he stepped up to the counter and Grantaire hastily looked around, trying to locate Eponine so he could make a quick escape, but sadly wasn’t that lucky.

“How can I help you?” Grantaire asked, managing to only look Combeferre in the eyes for a split-second.

“Coffee, please. Black.” Combeferre let some coins clatter into Grantaire’s tip jar, watching as he got his coffee. “How are you?” he asked as he handed over the money for his coffee. Combeferre looked genuinely concerned – it was so obvious that he knew, of course Enjolras had told him – and Grantaire just wanted to duck behind the counter and wait until Combeferre had left. He sure as hell did not want to talk about his feelings. Least of all with Combeferre.

“I’m okay.” He’d said it so often, it didn’t even feel like a lie anymore. “Really. I’m fine.” His voice definitely wasn’t cracking. “Why wouldn’t I be.”

Combeferre pursed his lips. “I know it’s none of my business, but-”

“Please,” Grantaire said lowly, dangerously close to bursting into tears. “Combeferre, can you not do this right now.” He set Combeferre’s coffee down on the counter.

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Combeferre offered him a small smile. “Take care, Grantaire.”

Grantaire only nodded, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding when the door clicked shut behind Combeferre.


	16. Chapter 16

Grantaire was fine. Honestly. He’d had a life before he’d met Enjolras and he did now, it wasn’t like he was lost without him. Of course it consisted mostly of drinking, sleeping and eating instant meals and not going to classes in favour of taking on extra shifts at the Musain, but he wasn’t just going to drop everything. Especially not after Courfeyrac had called him a _sad little blanket burrito_. Grantaire definitely did not want to be _that_.

He’d just got home from one of his shifts, completely exhausted, and ignored Courfeyrac’s and Jehan’s giggling in the living room, not really in the mood for company after attempting to smile at customers for the last few hours.

At least he hadn’t seen Enjolras or heard from Enjolras, which obviously hadn’t kept Grantaire from thinking about him or wondering if he’d show up at the Musain as he had so often in the past, but he never did. Grantaire was starting to think that Enjolras had memorised his schedule and knew when to better avoid the café.

Sometimes Grantaire dreamt about him, still, his subconscious betraying him in the worst way, and he felt dread washing over him when he woke up and Enjolras wasn’t there, and sometimes Courfeyrac would mention Enjolras’ name, casually in conversations, and it was just about as painful as being punched in the gut.

It had been a little over a week since Grantaire had last seen Enjolras. He was okay.

Grantaire tossed his jacket and his bag into a corner and let himself fall onto his bed. He was fucking exhausted and sleep still didn’t come too easily. But other than that he was perfectly fine. Even though Courfeyrac and Jehan didn’t quite believe him.

He was dimly aware that he still had his shoes on, together with the rest of his clothes and that he hadn’t even closed the door, but he didn’t care enough to do anything about it, he just wanted to sleep for a hundred years.

Grantaire could hear footsteps, then his mattress dipped. “Grantaire, you can’t hide out in your room forever.” That was Jehan’s voice.

“I went to uni yesterday,” Grantaire told him, “and I literally just got back from work.”

“I mean from us,” Jehan said softly.

“I’m not hiding from you. Look, I’m talking to you and everything.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Jehan inched closer until he was face to face with Grantaire. “Courf and I are worried about you.”

So they kept saying. “Why?” Grantaire muttered.

“Because we hardly see you anymore.”

Grantaire didn’t answer, because obviously he knew Jehan was right, he really had been avoiding them, because he knew that they’d ask him how he was feeling and he just didn’t want to be asked how he was feeling anymore.

Jehan gently ruffled his hair. “How are you?”

Grantaire refrained from rolling his eyes. He knew it was just because they cared. “Tired,” Grantaire whispered. “Don’t you have to go back to Courfeyrac?”

“No, I bet he’ll be here in a couple of minutes.” Jehan wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer until Grantaire’s face was buried in his jumper.

Grantaire didn’t complain.

Courfeyrac did join them not too much later, as Jehan had predicted, tugged Grantaire’s shoes off for him and jumped onto the bed and settled on the other side of Grantaire. “Someone from the gallery called earlier. Said you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Hm…” Grantaire had mostly ignored his phone during the last week. It was less painful.

“You should call them back,” Courfeyrac mused.

“I will.”

“Good,” Courfeyrac said firmly.

Grantaire nodded, didn’t tell his friends to leave, and actually slept that night, even though he hadn’t bothered to take off his clothes and really shouldn’t have been this comfortable, but he did sleep until his phone started blaring the next morning.

“Why?” Courfeyrac groaned.

“Ignore it,” Grantaire muttered.

And ignoring it would have worked just fine if the blasted thing hadn’t kept ringing.

“Just fucking answer it already.”

Grantaire groaned, because he really didn’t want to get up. It turned out that he didn’t even have to, because Jehan slid out of bed to get it out of his bag. “It’s Eponine.”

Grantaire sat up straight immediately and took the phone from Jehan. “Something wrong?”

“What are you doing tonight?” Eponine said curtly. She sounded hungover.

“I, um… nothing,” Grantaire mumbled sleepily.

“Fantastic,” Eponine said, “I need you to cover for me at the Musain.”

“Wait, what?”

“I have the flu,” she grumbled. Okay, maybe not hungover after all. “I can’t go to work,” she continued, sounding more and more annoyed with each word, “because I’m gonna get snot all over the place and believe me, I’ve pretty much tried everyone else. You’re my last hope. Please, Grantaire.”

“But…” It was Wednesday. Enjolras would be at the Musain this evening, along with everyone else, he’d be right there and Grantaire would have to look at him. He really, really didn’t want to. But Eponine was his friend and needed his help, so maybe he’d just have to suck it up.

“Grantaire, come on, you already said you didn’t have plans, help me out here.”

Grantaire sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“You’re my favourite person,” Eponine cooed, followed by a series of coughs.

Grantaire said goodbye, already wishing he’d said no. He was so fucked.

* * *

Grantaire had always liked his job at the Musain. It was stressful at times and sometimes the people he had to work with weren’t pleasant company, but the pay wasn’t all that bad and today Musichetta was working his shift with him, so at least he wouldn’t have too many reasons to despair.

He’d met Musichetta a couple of times now, and they’d been introduced properly, since she was often attached to either Joly or Bossuet, sometimes even both of them, so she was basically part of the group. Grantaire liked her, and not only because she always brought homemade cupcakes for her co-workers.

Grantaire had never worked a shift with her before, but he soon realised that it was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him.

She was easy to work with and willingly let him stay behind the counter to make coffee, watching as all of his friends filed in and sat down at their usual table in the back, filling the café with laughter and idle chatter. They all greeted him cheerfully, blissfully unaware on how much Grantaire was dreading the arrival of Enjolras. Only Courfeyrac shot him a sympathetic glance and Jehan even hugged him across the counter.

Enjolras did come in dead on time, looking radiant as ever. He barely even looked at Grantaire, only quickly nodded as way of greeting and Grantaire just stood frozen, staring at him, wondering how on earth he had thought that Enjolras would be affected in the least.

So Enjolras didn’t care. Okay. Grantaire could deal with that. It didn’t matter that much anyway.

Combeferre followed on Enjolras’ heels, but actually had a _hello_ and a smile to spare for him, although it didn’t really make Grantaire feel any better. He hardly even noticed, because he was still staring at the back of Enjolras’ head.

He’d had a haircut, Grantaire noticed, his curls were much shorter, but still long enough to pull. Grantaire pretended that his mouth didn’t go dry at that thought.

He was glad when Musichetta appeared with new orders, so he had something to do that would distract him from Enjolras, who had started speaking and had immediately had everyone’s undivided attention – even Grantaire’s.

It wasn’t like he could hear every word Enjolras was saying – Enjolras had had to learn to keep his voice down after Eponine had threatened to throw them all out because they were disturbing the other customers – but Grantaire followed the ups and downs of his voice anyway. It was like listening to an all familiar melody.

“Darling,” Musichetta said when she returned to him a while later, laden with empty cups and plates, “stop the pining, it’s painful to watch.”

“I’m not pining,” Grantaire mumbled, although he did realise that he’d barely taken his eyes off Enjolras in the last half hour. He was actually starting to creep himself out.

“You are,” Musichetta said, “and it’s incredibly obvious.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and started taking care of the dirty dishes until Courfeyrac appeared at the counter. “Grantaire, my friend,” he said, grinning down at him, “do you have any cake left.”

“Yeah, tons, pick whatever you want, I’ll have Musichetta bring it over.”

“Thank you ever so much,” Courfeyrac said and saluted him. “By the way… Enjolras looks like a miserable little puppy. I thought you’d like to know.”

“He barely even looked at me when he came in, he doesn’t give a shit,” Grantaire mumbled as he walked over to the cake display and opened the sliding door, waiting for Courfeyrac to make his pick.

“Right, I need a lot. Chocolate cake, two brownies and one of the cupcakes with the pink frosting,” Courfeyrac rattled off, “and a cinnamon muffin if you have one left.”

Grantaire put it all on plates and through some cruel twist of fate Musichetta was busy taking orders at another table, so it was up to Grantaire to help Courfeyrac carry all of the cake back to his table. Grantaire somehow managed to plaster a smile on his face, pointedly did not look at Enjolras, who was trying his hardest not to look at him either, quickly set down the plates and scurried back to the counter before anyone could ask him to stick around.

He busied himself with cleaning up, because the café was emptying steadily, then he started doodling on napkins to pass the time, sneaking glances at Enjolras every now and then, ignoring Musichetta’s snickering.

At some point his staring might have got a little too obvious, though, because Enjolras, now sitting in the corner between Courfeyrac and Feuilly, looked up from the cup of coffee he’d been staring into for the last ten minutes and stared right back at Grantaire. For some strange reason, Grantaire didn’t really have it in himself to look away.

It had always been easy to get Enjolras’ attention. All he’d had to do was contradict him, however slightly, and Enjolras’ eyes had been on him and only him. Grantaire had enjoyed it, had thought this was all he’d ever get, but after he’d got so much more than that it was hard to be satisfied by a mere glance, however intense it was.

Grantaire wanted to get up and walk over to him, he wanted to be close to him again, but Enjolras wouldn’t want him to, so Grantaire eventually tore his gaze away and crumpled the napkin he’d been drawing on between his fingers.

“What’s going on between the two of you?” Musichetta asked, keeping her voice low.

Grantaire was inclined to tell her, because Musichetta was that kind of person you could tell things like that, but he had to think of Enjolras, too. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know and he needed to respect that, so Grantaire only shrugged.

Musichetta hummed thoughtfully. “Did something happen?”

Grantaire shook his head.

“You should ask him out,” Musichetta suggested, “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t say no.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“It wouldn’t work.” It hadn’t worked. “I know that, believe me.”

“Well, I guess it would take a lot of compromises and whatnot, it’s not always easy, but let me tell you, it’s worth it in the end.”

Grantaire didn’t answer, mostly because he didn’t know what to say. He would have managed another year of sneaking around, he was sure of that now. It wouldn’t have been that bad. It could have worked. But now he’d never know.

“Or just, you know, stare at him longingly like a creeper, whatever works best for you,” Musichetta added when Grantaire remained silent.

Grantaire huffed out a breath and Musichetta eventually left him be in favour of joining their friends and sitting on Bossuet’s lap, since there was nothing else left to do for her.

Courfeyrac joined him at the counter after a while, saying he couldn’t possibly leave him alone like that, sipping a coffee and eating one of Musichetta’s cupcake, making the most obscene noises as he did. Grantaire tried his hardest to ignore him.

Enjolras and Combeferre were the first ones to leave that evening, Combeferre bid him and Courfeyrac goodnight, Enjolras, once again, didn’t even look at him.

Grantaire sighed and buried his face in his hands, wondering what he’d done to deserve this.

“I’m not sure you’re going to appreciate me telling you this, but they definitely saw that,” Courfeyrac’s voice came from next to him.

Grantaire was seriously starting to think that his life couldn’t possibly get any worse. He wasn't fine at all.


	17. Chapter 17

The following Saturday was Grantaire’s day off. He’d made sure to drink himself into oblivion the night before, just because he could and because he knew that he could sleep as long as he wanted the following day.

Except that he couldn’t. There was a knock on his door that he was only halfway aware off, then his door opened. “Grantaire?”

“Go away, Courf,” Grantaire grumbled, burying his head under a pillow.

“Sorry, man,” Courfeyrac mumbled, his footsteps slowly approaching Grantaire’s bed. “’Ferre is here to talk to you.”

Grantaire bolted upright, thinking he’d misheard for a second. “What?”

“Combeferre wants to talk to you,” Courfeyrac said slowly and sat down on the edge of his bed. “That okay?”

“He’s here? “ Grantaire asked. “Here at our flat?”

“He is,” Courfeyrac said, raising his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, I’m just… tired as fuck. And confused. Why does he want to talk to me?”

“What do you think,” Courfeyrac whispered. “So, what do I tell him?”

“Tell him to come back in five hours, chances are I won’t feel fucking dead anymore then.” Grantaire rubbed his eyes. “Or tell him to fuck off because I really don’t care what he has to say.” Because, really, what was Combeferre here for? Probably to tell him to stop being pathetic and to move the fuck on. Only that Combeferre would put it much more eloquently.

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac scolded, “just give him five minutes, then you can go back to sleep.”

“Fine…” Grantaire quickly pulled on some clothes and ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth, quickly waving at Combeferre, who was still hovering next to their front door.

When Grantaire returned to his room, Combeferre was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, wearing his usual ensemble of jeans and a cardigan, his glasses sitting low on his nose. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he was still drunk, but he could have sworn he saw tattoos poking out from under Combeferre’s sleeves.  

“Hi,” Grantaire mumbled, wondering if Combeferre felt as out of place as he looked in Grantaire’s messy room.

“Hello.” Combeferre smiled. “Courfeyrac told me to wait for you here. Sorry to come by so… early.”

It was almost noon. Grantaire grinned. “Weren’t you a university student at some point?”

“I obviously wasn’t a very good one,” Combeferre said with a shrug. “I’ve never been a fan of sleeping in.”

Grantaire nodded, shuffling his feet impatiently. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “So, what do you want?”

“I wanted to talk about Enjolras.”

Grantaire groaned. “Why?”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Grantaire leaned back against the closed door. “I really don’t want to sit down.”

Combeferre pursed his lips, but didn’t push it. “I don’t think I have to tell you that Enjolras told me about your relationship,” he began after a while. “Enjolras is my friend and he has been for a very long time. And I’m worried about him. He’s upset, even though he tries his best not to show it.”

“So, is that why you’re here?” Grantaire asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did he ask you to talk to me?”

“No, he doesn’t know that I’m here. He wouldn’t appreciate me coming here either. But, as I said, I’m worried about him.”

Grantaire almost laughed. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re not actually frolicking.”

“I’m certainly not frolicking,” Combeferre said, frowning. “Why would I be frolicking?”

“Because you hate me,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly.

Combeferre’s frown only deepened. “What makes you think that I hate you?”

“Oh, come on. You didn’t like that Enjolras and I were…” Together. Maybe. Or maybe not. Who the fuck knew.

“I won’t deny that I was concerned, especially because your… relationship could have cost him his job. But you were good for him. He was happy with you.”

“He was?” Grantaire asked. He sounded so hopeful, he wanted to punch himself in the face.

“Of course he was,” Combeferre said, “and for the record, I certainly don’t hate you.”

Grantaire sighed deeply, just staring at Combeferre for a while. “I miss him,” he said eventually.

“He misses you, too,” Combeferre said, smiling sadly, “but he’s convinced that you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. However, I believe that’s not quite true.”

“No, it’s not, I just… let’s say he gives me another chance, yeah? I’ll just fuck up again. And again. Until he’s finally sick of me. Why would I do that to myself? It’s easier if I just… forget about him.”

“It would be a shame if you did,” Combeferre said seriously.

Grantaire finally gave in and sat down next to him. “Then what am I supposed to do now?”

“That’s completely up to you.”

“That wasn’t helpful at all,” Grantaire grumbled.

“Do you really want my advice?”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said. It couldn’t hurt, especially because Combeferre was probably the most serious and most responsible person he’d ever met. “What should I do, oh wise one?”

“Talk to him,” Combeferre said simply.

Grantaire snorted. To be honest, he’d expected something a little more complex. “That’s it?”

“It’s easy as that.”

“Yeah, I think you’re wrong about that, it’s not going to be easy at all.”

* * *

Grantaire decided to start out slow. He didn’t really know Enjolras’ schedule now that a new term had started, but he was pretty sure that his office was still where it had always been.

He found the door closed, but the sign with Enjolras’ name was still next to the door.

Maybe Enjolras was inside. He could always knock. Then again, Grantaire wasn’t quite ready to talk to him just yet. He shook his head and walked away.

“Are you in one of Enjolras’ lectures?” Grantaire asked Courfeyrac while they were having dinner, trying to sound casual and not like he was trying to stalk him.

“I’m not,” Courfeyrac said, smiling knowingly, “but I can find out for you.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Grantaire said quickly.

Courfeyrac did find out for him anyway, like the good friend he was, and slammed a piece of paper down on the table in front of Grantaire only one day later. “You’re welcome,” he said, “now go fix it.”

Grantaire stared down at the paper, and oh, of course Enjolras would do a Friday morning lecture. There were two other ones, one on Monday afternoon, the other one on Tuesday morning, some classes, which were obviously impossible to sneak into, and his office hours.

“How?” Grantaire asked incredulously.

Courfeyrac grinned. “I know people.”

“You asked Combeferre, didn’t you?” Grantaire asked, frowning up at Courfeyrac, who only shrugged.

“Just thank me, worship the ground I walk on, don’t question my methods.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, eyes still fixed on the paper, eyeing the time and room of Enjolras’ Friday morning lecture with growing interest.

As Friday morning lectures went, it was relatively empty. Grantaire walked into the lecture hall, glad that Enjolras wasn’t there yet, because he now had enough time to pick a strategically good place to sit down.

He spotted two guys who seemed tall enough for him to hide behind, since the last row definitely wasn’t an option today. Anyway, Enjolras had told him he’d seen him last time, which wasn’t exactly surprising, because everyone who looked at Grantaire for just a second would realise that he wasn’t a politics student and didn’t belong here. He stood out.

So Grantaire slid into the row behind those guys, hoping no one would pay attention to him. He soon busied himself with his sketchbook, but looked up when Enjolras walked in. It was hard to miss, because the whole lecture hall fell silent upon his arrival, everyone waiting in silence as Enjolras pulled up his power point and started talking about political propaganda.

Grantaire soon realised that coming here had been a mistake. There was no way he could talk to Enjolras, there was no way that Enjolras would take him back, that Grantaire would ever be anything more to him than some casual fling, because Enjolras was a god.

It wasn’t that Grantaire had never realised how incredibly articulate and smart Enjolras was, that he was able to silence a room simply by walking into it, that he had this effect on people. He’d just never really fully understood that he’d never be able to live up to that. Not in a million years.

But that didn’t stop him from coming back for the Monday lecture, which nearly made him late for work. He also thought for a second that Enjolras might have spotted him, but apparently he’d only imagined that, because after the lecture Enjolras walked out without so much as looking in his direction.

Grantaire also returned for the Friday lecture the following week. And the week after that.

He was tired that day, he’d stayed up all night with Courfeyrac and Jehan and wasn’t in the mood for fancy politics talk. At least he’d had enough time to buy himself a massive cup of coffee and was at least sixty percent sure that he’d be able to stay awake.

At the end of the lecture Grantaire had filled countless pages of his sketchbook with idle doodles in an attempt to keep himself awake. He gathered his belongings, already planning on going straight home and then straight to bed, and walked towards the exit. Then he realised that Enjolras was standing right there next to the door.

Grantaire hadn’t realised that he hadn’t left yet.

He froze in place, considering his options. There was another door at the back, but before Grantaire could turn around and make a run for it, Enjolras eyes were on him, making sure he didn’t go anywhere.

There were students still lingering in the lecture hall, chatting and laughing, some of them crowding around Enjolras. Maybe Grantaire could just walk past him and say nothing. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but there was no way he could talk to him now with Enjolras’ students still around.

He was just about to pass Enjolras, eyes fixed on the floor, when someone caught him by the elbow. “Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his expression carefully neutral, “may I have a word. In my office.”

The other students were looking at him curiously and Grantaire could feel his cheeks redden. He couldn’t really say no, could he? “Sure, yeah.”

“Just wait for me there, I won’t be much longer.”

Grantaire nodded and fled from the lecture hall. He could just go home. But Enjolras knew where he lived and if he really wanted to talk to him he’d show up there. Grantaire sighed and made his way to Enjolras’ office, waiting outside the door, tapping his foot restlessly until Enjolras finally showed up some ten minutes later.

Enjolras unlocked the door, pushed Grantaire inside, a little roughly maybe, sending a jolt right through Grantaire’s body. This office was a bad place for Grantaire, because he had too many memories clinging to this windowless closet that somehow still served Enjolras as an office. He wanted to turn around and leave.

Enjolras fixed him with his piercing glance once more, his brow creased in a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Standing next to the door so it’s easier for me to run away,” Grantaire said jokingly, although it really wasn’t a joke at all.

“Can you please be serious for just one second,” Enjolras spat. “Why the hell do you keep coming to my lectures? What do you want? Are you mocking me, is that it? I can’t fucking think when you’re there, Grantaire, I don’t even know how I manage to talk when I see you sitting there. Really, just answer me this one question, so I can stop asking _myself_.”

Grantaire drew in a shaky breath. “I didn’t think you’d see me,” he mumbled.

“You didn’t think I’d see you? Are you serious? You’re all I seem to be able to think about and you think I wouldn’t see you when you’re _right there_?”

“I… you… are?” Grantaire stammered. Shit, he needed to get a grip on himself.

“I am what?” Enjolras snapped.

“Thinking about me?”

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed. “Of course.”

Grantaire swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“So, what do you want?” Enjolras asked again.

“I was just… I don’t know, maybe trying to work up enough courage to actually talk to you and at the same time convincing myself that you’re way too good for me anyway?”

Enjolras’ expression softened. “I’m not too good for you Grantaire. You deserve someone so much better than me. I realise I’ve completely messed up everything we had and I’m so sorry I did. I’m not very good at… relationships, as you might have noticed.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Grantaire muttered, trying to look anywhere but at Enjolras’ eyes. If he did, he’d be so fucked.

Enjolras took a step toward him, then another. Due to the narrow space of the office, Enjolras was almost standing in front of him now. Grantaire wouldn’t look up.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said lowly, “please understand, there’s nothing I can do. Obviously I could talk to the head of department if you would like me to. I’d rather not lose my job over this, but… I miss you.”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped up at that, finding Enjolras’. He only had to reach out to pull Enjolras flush against him. Enjolras’ lips tasted sweet, like one of those cupcakes Grantaire sold at the Musain at least three times a week, his hands came to rest at Grantaire’s hips, pushing him backwards until they hit the door with a low thump.

Grantaire groaned, not exactly out of pain, though. His hands slipped into the back pockets of Enjolras’ jeans, squeezing lightly, and Enjolras only kissed him harder in response. Then one of Enjolras’ hands was gone, there was a clicking noise, and Grantaire realised that Enjolras had locked the door.

Well, Grantaire could work with that.

He reached up to slide Enjolras’ blazer off his shoulder and Enjolras made an attempt at looking annoyed when Grantaire just let it fall to the floor. Grantaire kissed him again to wipe that expression off his face and it was incredibly effective.

Grantaire then grabbed him by the hips to flip them around, pushing Enjolras against the door, grinding against him and kissing him thoroughly before dropping to his knees and working open Enjolras’ zipper.

Enjolras whimpered when Grantaire nuzzled at his dick through the fabric of his boxer briefs and tugged them down, but then clamped a hand over his mouth, cheeks flushing. “Grantaire,” he whispered, “fuck, we shouldn’t…”

Grantaire didn’t remind him that it had been him who’d locked the door. “Are you asking me to stop?” he asked innocently and pressed a kiss to the tip of Enjolras’ dick. “Because I will if you ask me to.”

Enjolras shook his head, breathing in sharply. “The walls are like paper, we have to be quiet, okay?”

Grantaire looked up at him, grinning. He sucked Enjolras off slowly, using every trick he knew, knowing Enjolras had a hard time keeping quiet.

Enjolras sank down onto the floor afterwards, panting, barely managing to tug his clothes back into place. He grabbed Grantaire by his shirt and pulled him into a sloppy kiss, hands wandering down to unbutton his jeans, then he suddenly froze. “Shit.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, gently brushing his thumb over Enjolras’ cheek.

“I was going to have coffee with Combeferre.” He looked at Grantaire for a few seconds, eyes wide. “Well, I guess I’m late already.”

“No, Enjolras, just go,” Grantaire said, trying to straighten out Enjolras’ hair, which was basically screaming _just had sex in my office_ , but only made an even worse mess of it. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“I’ll try to come back as quickly as I can. And then we’ll talk,” Enjolras said.

“Or maybe I’ll fuck you on your desk,” Grantaire said, winking at him. His jeans seemed to get even tighter at that, but Enjolras’ expression was definitely worth it.

Enjolras let out a soft whimper. “Yeah, okay, that doesn’t sound too bad either.” He took a deep breath. “So, are we… good? For now, I mean.”

“For now,” Grantaire echoed, smiling at him. “Just as long as you promise right now that you’ll take me out on a date the second I graduate.” They could talk about the details later. About compromises. About how this was going to work.

Enjolras laughed. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I actually finished this fic, who would have thought this was ever going to happen. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking around and, as always, thank you so much for your comments and your kudos, they really kept me going!


End file.
